


ornaments of the young

by SeventhStrife



Series: ornaments [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bio Organic Weapons | B.O.W.s, Blood and Injury, Body Dysmorphia, Complete, Deal With It, Dirty Talk, Don't copy to another site, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Frottage, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jake "Boyfriend Material" Muller, Post-Resident Evil 6, Protective Jake Muller, Rating May Change, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Sherry "But The Mission" Birkin, Sherry's POV, Updated weekly, generic mission is generic, generic monster is generic, like fics where Sherry's more fucked up than Jake?, like it's actually ridiculous how in love these two are, then BOY are you in the right place!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeventhStrife/pseuds/SeventhStrife
Summary: Jake and Sherry have proven to be one of the most impressive and efficient teams the DSO has to offer. After the chaotic events that brought them together, their partnership seems unshakeable.So why hasn't Jake seen Sherry's wings?
Relationships: Sherry Birkin/Jake Muller
Series: ornaments [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083173
Comments: 69
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's waiting for me to update my other works and is livid I'm posting anything else: I promise I'm working on those too! I just suddenly got inspired to write some Sherry/Jake and I currently have this fic all but finished??? I have no idea how this happened, but here we are.
> 
> Mostly, I wrote this because I'm not sure if it counts as a real pairing if there isn't some wingfic for them, yanno? And Sherry/Jake is so valid. And yes I know, this is such an over-used trope. But, again, are they a real pairing if there aren't stories involving those tropes??? I'm doing a public service.

"So, what's the deal?"

Sherry pulls herself away from her laptop long enough to shoot Jake a confused look. The question came out of nowhere in the silence of their room, and the last thing they'd talked about was dinner; she really has no clue what he could mean.

"What?" She glances down at her report, jarringly cut off. The last line reads: _Despite the ambush, the mission was successful, largely in part due to Jake's high adaptability and skill under pressure, both of which have made him an indispensable asset to the org—_

Sherry grimaces and backspaces; her bias is showing and headquarters will expect nothing but the facts.

She's already getting sucked back in, only vaguely paying attention to Jake. She hears him move from the couch in front of the small TV, sees in her peripheral that he's approaching, and she stubbornly keeps her eyes down. No doubt he's moving closer to easier capture her attention, but if he doesn't want to type reports, he'll have to accept that there will be times when she'll need to pick up the slack— _without_ interruption.

Jake takes a seat at the small table in front of her. He drums his fingers across the surface absently.

"I mean your wings," he says, and Sherry stops _breathing._ "What's the deal?"

Sherry freezes completely, eyes unseeing as she stares at the blinking cursor on her abandoned email.

 _Why now?_

In hindsight, considering all they've been through, the real question should probably be why it hasn't come up _sooner._

Even still, after all this time of blissful avoidance, Sherry can't help but be tortured by the fact that she's not _ready._ As inevitable as this conversation is, as much time as she's had to prepare some excuse, she's blank. She doesn't know what to say.

The silence has stretched long enough to get uncomfortable, and her reaction has already given her away.

She decides to move on anyway. Forces her shoulders to lose their tight draw, makes her fingers pick up the threads of her email.

"What about them?" She asks, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile.

Jake's glaring at her, she can _feel_ it.

"Do you ever take them out?"

"Sure," Sherry says, clipped.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees how Jake leans forward, arms braced on the table. She doesn't dare look up.

"You're really going to be difficult about this, aren't you?"

Sherry presses her lips into a tight line. She keeps typing, barely aware of what she's writing. She's sure that whatever she's writing is completely devoid of emotion, however, so at least there's that.

"Sherry."

His voice is different. Gone is the hint of anger and frustration, the hard confrontation. Low and quiet, yet with a thread of sincerity that Sherry's never been able to ignore. She glances up despite herself.

He's serious. It's obvious in the unwavering eye contact, the absolute focus, the way his hands are clasped on the table, just a few inches from her laptop. He doesn't look away.

"Do you trust me?"

It takes Sherry a moment to find her voice, she's so taken aback.

"O-of course," she answers, bewildered. Of all the things to ask her...

Jake doesn't say anything else. He holds her gaze, eyes steady.

And then his wings burst out.

Sherry can't quite catch the small gasp that leaves her at the sight. Jake's wings are breathtaking on a good day, but when he flaunts them with intent? They're _devastating._

Size alone would make them stand out in a crowd; the open kitchen suddenly seems cramped and stuffy, and fully unfurled he looks like something out of a renaissance painting come to life. The power and strength in them is obvious and to see him take flight is indescribable. Launching straight up into the air like a rocket, how a single flap of his wing propels him with the force of a hurricane—there's freedom, and then there's what _Jake_ has.

But even if at first glance someone missed the staggering span of his wings, _no one_ could ignore the color.

Pitch black, without so much as a _hint_ of gray. Sherry hadn't heard of a true raven, _ever,_ until Jake. They were gorgeous, like everything else about Jake, but she knew he'd faced some hardships because of them, knew personally how being different was a far cry from being accepted.

He'd confessed to her, once, that he'd gotten his fair share of bullying because of them, but it hadn't lasted. Jake wasn't the type of person to take any abuse sitting down, and once he realized that he could actually _fly,_ not just glide like everyone else around him, he'd stopped caring about what other people thought. And with how he carried himself so confidently, wings resplendent and otherworldly, he'd certainly had nothing to worry about.

And now Jake's flaunting those same wings. _Presenting._ To _her._

It physically _hurts_ Sherry to not return the gesture, just on instinct. In their bindings, her wings flex in a way that makes her wince, how they strain against the leather straps, how the fabric that hides them suddenly feels heavier.

_He's—he doesn't understand. He doesn't **mean** —_

Presenting—it sends a very clear message, one that can't be mistaken:

_Notice me. See me. Accept me as yours._

Never, in a _million_ years, did she expect to find herself in this situation. Why should she? Her feelings for Jake aside, there _can't_ be anything between them. Not when Sherry isn't honest, not when she can't bring herself to be the partner he deserves.

And partners—they don't hide their wings from one another. And there's no way Sherry's showing Jake hers. 

It isn't worth the risk.

Sherry stares, still shocked at the turn the night has taken, but when Jake doesn't move, when he only continues to wait patiently, she realizes that he's going to make her say it. She's going to have to hurt them both.

Sherry tears her eyes away, looks down to shield how upset she is. Being emotional will help no one right now.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, forcing her voice steady. She isn't sure if Jake is showing interest, or just trying to coax a response, but it's a bitter pill to swallow, to have this opportunity dumped in her lap and have to reject it.

Sherry jerks up from the table. She slams her laptop shut and snatches it off the surface.

"I can't," she says heavily. Firmly. "I...I'm sorry. But I can't."

Jake stands too. He reaches out, confused and worried, as his wings draw in a bit, "Sherry—"

Sherry flinches back. 

It's a stupid move, one she regrets before it's even over, but it was inevitable. All these questions about her wings, the confrontation, the presenting—she's cornered, and on the defense, and then his hand reaches out like so many before, grabbing at her wings, trying to expose the _freak—_

Reflexive as it was, she still hates herself for the look of hurt that flashes across Jake's face, for a moment painfully clear before he has a chance to master himself.

A deafening silence descends as they stare at one another, only a few feet apart, but with the distance as effective as a yawning chasm. She'd felt closer to him when they'd been held captive in China for six months.

Sherry manages to find her voice, although it's far from steady.

"I—I'm sorry, Jake. But, you can't—" She stops. Takes a deep breath. "I can't. I _won't."_ Her voice is barely a whisper in the quiet, "Please don't ask me again."

She doesn't wait for him to reply. She leaves, skirting around his wings so that she doesn't even touch the same air as them—and all but runs to her room.

She doesn't breathe easily until the door is closed behind her and she rests her forehead against the cheap imitation wood, heart racing. She's never locked her door when she's shared a safe house with Jake, but the temptation is overwhelming right now. The only thing that stops her is the fact that in such absolute silence, Jake would hear it, and she's not willing to hurt him any more than she already has.

It's quiet for several long, eternal seconds. Then there's the faint scuff of boots on the kitchen floor. Sherry's not surprised to hear the front door open and slam.

Screwing her eyes shut, Sherry lets herself slide to the floor. She draws her knees up and buries her face between them miserably, taking deep breaths to keep from making a sound.

It's her own fault, and she has nothing to cry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments??? ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's up right away because you guys are awesome! Plus, the first chapter is always too short in new fics, even if it's thousands of words long; I had to post another one! Thank you guys so much for your support!
> 
> Also, I'm a firm believer in AO3's tagging system, but just in case, if any of the tagged themes bother you, this is the chapter to skip.

The wings were a product of Raccoon City. She'll never forget waking up on that filthy, bloody cot and seeing Claire hovering above her, face creased with worry. 

She'd had a scant few seconds of peace. Precious, blissful, utterly ignorant peace. She remembered the relief coursing through her, the fleeting embrace of safety that Claire always gave her during a time when such things had been proven to be fake. She wasn't dead, so Claire had managed the impossible. Cured her, when she was sure she was dead.

She'd felt her strength coming back, enough to raise her wing and stretch it towards Claire, seeking reassurance—and frozen immediately.

The tugs of her wings came naturally, but it felt different. Foreign. And terrifyingly... _more._

"Sherry, I know this seems bad, but I need you to remain calm."

But Sherry couldn't hear her over the rush of blood through her ears.

Her wings...were _changed._ Gone were the speckled brown and gray fluffy down she knew and loved, the only tie to her parents she felt she had sometimes. Now? Now they almost _glowed_ in the darkness, a stark white like bones left to bleach in the sun. Mutely, she'd raised them, curled them towards her in an attempt to _see._

They were long and thin, and where she expected a single wing to arc over her shoulders, instead there were _three._ On each side, three sets of tapered, angular wings stretched out. She twitched, and they moved. They rose from her spine, shivering and weak, curling over her shoulders. Sherry looked down.

They also moved at her wrists. And her ankles.

Sherry could feel her head swimming, her vision going fuzzy. Her arms shook as she raised them higher, staring at her wrists. 

They were tiny things, no longer than six inches. She flexed them, eyes darting to her ankles and back as they mirrored one another, but they were definitely real. Wings. Two extra sets of small, white wings.

With piercing clarity, Sherry realized that as she grew older, they'd grow with her. She tried to picture herself going to school with five sets of wings, of reaching hands grabbing fistfuls of stark white feathers and yanking on her wrists. Tripping her up in the hallway by the ones at her feet.

"I'm a monster," she'd whispered, the panic and horror and despair rising like a tidal wave to drag her under.

Only Claire, hands painfully tight where they gripped her shoulders, anchored her.

 _"No._ Sherry, that's not true. You're still the same smart, brave girl I met a few hours ago and this changes _nothing_ about you, you hear me?" Claire's tone brooked no argument and Sherry had stared at her with the large, hopeless eyes of a child, desperately wanting to believe her. "These mean you're alive, Sherry. You survived. Nothing else."

That moment, and the days after that, were probably the closest Sherry had ever come to—if not _liking_ her wings, then at least feeling like they weren't the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Claire showed her how to bind them, how to tuck them just so and wrap them so they didn't bulk out awkwardly from beneath her clothes. Neither of them had breathed a word of it to Leon; Sherry had begged her not to say anything, clinging to a last bit of normalcy, just for a little while longer, and Claire had allowed her the illusion of that ordinariness. She still didn't think he knew, even now. 

If Sherry had her way _no one_ would know. But some did. Claire, obviously. Government officials, the ones on a need-to-know basis. Simmons, as her guardian. The scientists.

Her first day of testing, just a week after Raccoon City, was the first time she'd learned about her healing factor. And the fact that it applied to her wings, too.

The normal tests were bad enough; constant injections and blood samples were taken, enough so that just the sight of a needle made her feel sick; endurance exercises, relentless attempts to exhaust her limits until she collapsed; heart monitoring, where she was drugged and her heart was slowed almost to the point of stopping, just to see if her genome altered with it.

But worst of all were the tests on her healing ability. That was where her wings came in.

It was small things at first, pinches that evolved into pokes, pokes that evolved into shallow cuts, all while she was hooked up to more wires than a puppet. But as she got older, so too evolved the extremes of the tests.

Shallow cuts became surgically precise incisions. Careful observation of low-level pulses became full-on electric-shock therapy. She was taught self-defense, then had to fend off a half-dozen combatants, all far more experienced, always relentless.

All this was done in the name of scientific curiosity. All to know the limits of her new genome, to understand fully, inside and out, whether or not she posed a threat to humanity. That's what Sherry tried to believe, at least, when she felt on the verge of collapsing in on herself like a wilting flower, when the thought of walking back into the lab made her want to puke and cry and she felt she was losing her mind entirely.

All of that was more than she could stand. But she thought she might do it all twice over if it meant they never touched her wings. But they were a source of acute fascination and got the most attention.

She'd been plucked more times than she could count, like a bird before roasting, bleeding all over the immaculate floors while cool-eyed people with clipboards painstaking recorded how long it took the feathers to grow back. They'd clipped her flights, then told her to fly anyway. The wings at her wrists and ankles had been severed completely, and she could still hear the awed gasps of shock and delight as they slowly reformed, feeling like fire as they emerged tender from wounds still new and raw.

It was a 50/50 shot whether she received anesthetic. It tended to affect results, she'd been told.

She'd gone to Simmons. Just once. He'd looked at her with pity, but there was also understanding there. Compassion. He'd put a consoling, fatherly hand on her shoulder.

"It's for your own good," he'd said. Sherry never voiced a word of complaint after that. 

Years went by like this, pushed to the brink in those labs, but then salvation came. The Kijuju report. Albert Wesker's death. 

When the government offered her freedom in exchange for service, there hadn't been a single hesitation in her mind. She'd have given anything, mind, body, _soul,_ if it meant not going back for more tests.

The day she moved from Simmons custody, she bound her wings, all of them. She tucked them tight, wrapped them firmly enough to make her wince and guarantee they never slipped out, and covered as much of her skin as possible. Sherry didn't have much of a childhood or even young adulthood, so when she left, there wasn't much she knew about herself. But she did know she didn't like to be touched, and that fact hadn't changed. Not for several years.

But then she met Jake. And for all his bravado and posturing, now something makes _her_ want to reach out. Jake had snuck past her walls and captured her heart like a thief in the night. And the worst part's that she doesn't even want it back. Despite herself, she trusts Jake with it, with her. 

And it's the dumbest thing she's ever done. Because this can't last. This partnership, this friendship, this hint of something else on the horizon—it was doomed from the start. Jake had taken her healing abilities with the shock and wariness she'd have expected anyone to have. Showing him her wings? The very thought makes nausea swoop low in her belly, makes clammy sweat break out on her skin.

Throughout her life, Sherry's come to learn she can take a lot. 

But to see the disgust on his face? To watch Jake as he turns his back and leaves her forever?

She can't take that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (~￣³￣)~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. You're all so freaking NICE! Posting this reminded me A) How much I love Resident Evil and B) How much I love the fans. Seriously, RE has one of the best fandoms and I love talking to you guys! Thank you all so much for your comments/kudos/bookmarks, they are such a boost, seriously! Updates will at least be weekly, but I'll definitely update sooner like last week if you guys really want it.
> 
> Enjoy!

When Sherry wakes, everything comes flooding back; the memories, the slam of the door, the look of hurt betrayal on Jake's face. Her chest aches, heart bruised in renewed guilt and fear. She and Jake have argued in the past, of course—you couldn't spend this much time with one person and not bump heads occasionally—but never anything on this scale. Never over something that _mattered._

Between her anxiety, guilt, and the inevitable resurgence in nightmares of the labs, Sherry had barely slept at all. She hopes Jake fared better. It would be one less thing she's done to hurt him, at least.

Sherry finds her phone shoved underneath the nearest pillow and squints at the time. It's early, but not so early that she'd have nothing to do until their ride comes to take them to the airport. If she gets up now, she'll have enough time to dress, eat, and pack. The relief of knowing she has something to keep her busy for the next hour is immense.

She's tentative when she opens her door, clothes tucked into her arm, but a glance shows that Jake's is firmly shut. The crack beneath the door is dark and, after a moment of hesitation, she doesn't hear any movement beyond. The coast is clear.

Sherry doesn't breathe until she's in the bathroom, and she sags against the door, already exhausted with her day. She and Jake are _partners._ Exactly how is she supposed to keep this up? Logically, she knows she can't continue this way, but she has no idea how to fix it without giving Jake what he wants. 

And that's never happening.

Sherry pushes off the door and gets ready for the day, pushing away her pointless, circling thoughts for the time being. It's such a relief to let her wings out, if for no other reason than the fact that they've been bound for days now. Normally, in the sanctity of whatever hotel they find themselves housed in, she at least lets them down in her bedroom. But after that fight, she'd felt...protective. Scared, more like. She glares at them as she brushes her teeth hard enough to be painful. Not for the first time, she wishes she was normal.

She gains a measure of peace of mind as she showers, but she still keeps her ears peeled for the slightest sound from Jake. When she leaves the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wings bound, wrists and ankles firmly wrapped and hidden beneath her clothes, his door is still shut tight.

The sight has the confusing effect of making her feel simultaneously relieved and nervous. She busies herself with packing up her stuff. 

Duffle slung over her shoulder, Sherry creeps past Jake's room and leaves her bag near the front door. It's as she's bent over, setting it down, that she hears the distinct sound of another door opening.

Her heart leaps to her throat, but by the time she turns around, the bathroom door shuts. She waits for a few tense moments, but the sound of the shower starts up.

_...Okay. Okay. He's up. I can deal with this._

Sherry busies herself preparing coffee, mechanically dumping grounds in the filter and water into the reservoir. It's when she's sliding the pot beneath the drip that she realizes her hands are shaking.

_Oh, for god's sake._

Sherry closes her hands into fists, then deliberately straightens her fingers with an inaudible, slow exhale. 

The coffee helps. Fingers curled around the hot mug, the smell settles her and the bitter taste on her tongue is a much-needed distraction. She can hear when Jake turns off the tap and the shower stops abruptly. The quiet suddenly seems to scream and her shoulders hunch.

If this is how she feels before she's even seen Jake, how the hell is she supposed to work with him? Already, the day is shaping up to be so incredibly awkward.

And what about Jake? She has no idea what time he got home last night, or what he even did. Normally, it's against protocol for them to spend a large length of time apart without contacting one another, but last night had been an...extenuating circumstance. More than anything, Sherry's worried that whatever outlet Jake sought to blow off steam through last night wasn't enough. If even after that, his feelings won't have changed, and this blow that's upset the trust between them broke it forever. She's worried he's going to walk out and tell her he's leaving.

Her hands are shaking again. She tries to stop, setting her coffee down.

 _He hasn't even said anything yet. No use jumping to conclusions._ The rationale doesn't stop her heart from leaping to her throat when she hears the bathroom door opening.

She hears footsteps, some shuffling around, and then Jake walks out, skin still a bit flushed, black duffle bag in his hands. 

She watches him, entire body tense, but he doesn't so much as glance at her. He drops his bag by hers and then breezes past her into the kitchen. Sherry stays frozen where she is, not daring to look up from the table, and can hear him pouring himself a cup. His wings are bound.

It's...okay, that's fair. She hadn't even considered that he'd ignore her, and while being snubbed like that hurts, it's better than him leaving. Infinitely better than him trying to start the argument up all over again.

The tense silence settles over the room as they each sip their coffee, and then Sherry's phone chimes with the custom notification she'd chosen just for HQ.

Sherry takes one look at the email and her stomach _drops._

New orders. Their rendezvous to the airport is coming just as scheduled, but their flight has been changed. Instead of back home, they're being sent outside the country. East Germany, it looks like.

Simple orders, simple mission. Reports of rumored B.O.W. sightings, investigate, validate the truth of their nature, and neutralize if they're found true. 

Sherry had been hoping for an awkward flight back home and a few days space. With time and distance, she feels confident they could come back together and pretend this whole incident had never happened. But another mission, back to back from a reconnaissance? Normally, she'd take field duty over sitting at her desk filing reports any day. Now, she wishes she and Jake were a little less efficient, a little less the go-to team for missions like this.

Sherry stands abruptly, shoving her phone in her back pocket and grabbing her mostly-full coffee. She can't stomach anything now and it's her turn to brush past Jake where he's leaning against the counter.

"New mission," she says flatly, fraught with nerves. She rinses out her cup, staring at the dark brown coffee as it circles the drain. An irrational part of herself wants to dive in after it. "We're getting picked up in ten. They sent you a copy of the brief."

Usually, Sherry just briefs him herself, typically with him hovering over her shoulder or sitting nearby; she doesn't think either of them can handle that right now.

Sherry leaves her cup to dry on the counter and walks past Jake. She hears him sigh, but he doesn't say anything.

Unable to stomach ten minutes sitting in this hotel room in painful silence, Sherry grabs her duffle and leaves. Waiting outside is her only option, and she barely feels the slight chill in the air, not when her thoughts are so chaotic. She sits on a cold metal bench just by the automatic doors and leans back with her legs and arms crossed. Her foot bounces and her finger taps on her arm, impatient, anxiety through the roof.

This truly is the worst possible scenario. She's certain that with space, everything will go back to normal. But being in a different country, the only familiar face being each other, and the fact that Sherry will have to rely on Jake if the natives don't speak English—the very thought of all that enforced one-on-one interaction makes her skin crawl. She can already see it playing out in front of her eyes. 

Jake, stiff and cold, aloof as he was when they first met. Only, his eyes will betray him, the way they always do. She'll easily see the hurt and anger and confusion there, and she'll make it worse. Because she won't explain herself. And the whole time, he'll be thinking who knows what about her. That she doesn't trust him, maybe, which couldn't be further from the truth. Or that she thinks no one's worthy of presenting to, or something.

The reinforcement of those thoughts will drive a wedge between them. He'll demand she show him. She'll refuse.

He'll leave. Forever.

Sherry's breath catches. She's used to being alone. Her whole life, she's been alone. But ever since she met Jake, she's realized...she doesn't _want_ to be alone. But it feels like it's inevitable now.

"Sherry."

Sherry jerks, looking up. Jake's there, frowning down at her. He's got his bag slung over a shoulder, free hand tucked into his pocket. His gaze pins her to that bench, utterly unreadable.

"Ride's here," he says, jerking his chin across the lot.

"Oh!" Sherry snaps her head over and yes, sure enough, there's a nondescript black car waiting for them. 

"You okay?" Jake asks, and a bit of worry leaks into his tone.

_No._

Sherry meets his eyes and in that beat, she's terrified of how transparent she must be.

_Please don't leave me._

"Yes. Yes, of course." 

She snatches up her bag and strides away. She doesn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back-to-back missions, compounded with Sherry and Jake's teamwork suddenly on the rocks? How could this develop I wonder...? (ʃƪ¬‿¬)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Monday! Which means another chapter! Just want to send a quick shoutout to everyone who's commented, kudo'd, bookmarked, or generally shown this little fic some love; Thank you so much! You're the reason for updates!
> 
> -7.24.20 UPDATE-
> 
> HOLY HELL GUYS!!!! The lovely, flawless, exceptionally talented, graciously kind [Beastie](https://www.instagram.com/thebeastiaryart/) drew actual real fuckin' ART for this fic!!! And it's amazing!!! Praise her!!!! She did both the comic in this chapter and a stunning depiction of Sherry in all her winged glory—which I will be posting with the next chapter. Cry with me over how talented she is. (ಥ﹏ಥ)

By the time Sherry and Jake touch German soil, she's beyond ready to have this mission over and done with. HQ had booked them commercial flights and whatever seats were available in the name of expediency, so while she got breathing room, it still took a toll flying for such long periods of time between their layovers. The only saving grace was that when she'd caught glimpses of Jake's face, seated as far as they were, he at least hadn't looked angry. Just...deep in thought.

Hopefully focusing on the mission, but either way, Sherry'll take it. 

By the time they get to the village, she wants nothing more than to crash. But they're not here to relax.

"Where was this 'sighting' anyways?" Jake sounds bored, but with the faintest tinge of annoyance. She can tell the long flights have gotten to him, too.

Sherry looks at her phone, but it's for show. She'd done nothing but pour over the mission details, scant as they were, for the last sixteen hours. It's an excuse to avoid eye contact. This is the first they've spoken to each other since they left the hotel.

"Nowhere specific. We'll have to ask the locals."

"Tch."

Sherry leads the way, gaze dropping to her phone every now and again to make sure they're staying on track. She can hear Jake behind her, but she can't tell if it's her or him that's keeping space between them. 

The complete lack of small talk is nearly unbearable. Usually, it's never quiet between them. Whether they're talking about the mission (mostly Sherry), their pasts (rare, but it happened), or just teasing one another good-naturedly (the go-to), their conversations are one of the main things Sherry enjoys about Jake. He's never boring, and despite the nature of her job, Jake's easily more traveled than her. She's learned a lot, about the world, about him.

But now here they are, crunching through the mountain snow, quiet as the grave. Sherry tightens her grip on her phone. _This is all my fault._

The village is remote enough that it takes an hour to hike there. Once they've arrived, Sherry knows they only have a handful of hours of sunlight left. This is a basic reconnaissance mission anyways, but even so, they'll have to be quick.

Like she'd expected, Jake takes the lead once they get within speaking distance of someone. No one speaks so much as a single word of English and she has to stand closer than she'd like to Jake as he translates for her. Any other time, she'd have no problem standing by his side. Now it just feels like a mockery of their once-close friendship.

They make their way through the village, talking to this person, who refers them to that person, who refers them to another, until they finally take a statement from the source, an old woman who'd claimed to see a monster when she'd taken her usual hike through the mountain path. She points to a foot-worn track in the snow, thin and winding as it crawls higher and higher up the mountain until it disappears into the dark shadows of the forest.

Beside her, Jake scowls. 

"Of course."

The hike up the mountain is worse than the village, if only because it's uphill. It's cold, the windchill is colder, and the tree coverage grows so thick they can't even have a little sunlight for the _illusion_ of warmth.

Sherry leads the way, restless, mind focused only on completing the mission as soon as possible. She's no stranger to violence, but she's never taken pleasure in killing, even if it's a B.O.W. But right now? Right now, she just wants to shoot something and call it a day.

That is, _if_ there's even a B.O.W. to shoot. The old woman could have just seen an animal, after all.

Having Jake behind her should make her feel safe, but she's tense. She can feel his eyes on her, on her bound wings, but he won't _say_ anything. 

She knows he's going to bring it up again. And all of this walking with nothing to see or do means he's going to speak up any second now. And Sherry's so tired. She really doesn't want to fight him. 

It doesn't help that they have nothing more to go on than _'a monster'._ Not even a description. It was dark, apparently, the early hours of the morning when the old woman had seen it, and since she'd run away as soon as she'd caught a glimpse of unnatural movement, they didn't even know what to look _for._

Sherry doesn't see any traces of a B.O.W., no stray blood or gore, no stench of rotting flesh, no strange residues—the longer they walk, the clearer it's becoming that this is nothing more than a false alarm, and while that should be cause for celebration that these people are safe, it just means that it couldn't have come at a _worse_ time and Jake won't let things lie without one last confrontation and Sherry doesn't think they'll survive another night like—

Something snags on Sherry's foot and she trips, hands flying out in front of her.

"Ah—!"

The forest floor, a mix of snow and dirt, rushes up to meet her painfully and her eyes screw shut—

Sherry comes to a brutal stop, feels herself lurching back up by a grip around her waist, and looks—straight into Jake's wide, clear eyes.

He looks just as surprised as she is by her sudden fall.

She opens her mouth, but can't speak, all of her doubts and insecurities rushing over her in a second. The seconds draw out and Jake just keeps looking at her, the serious, thoughtful look from before slowly overtaking his face as he takes her in. 

Sherry kind of wishes he'd let her fall. He's been a bit standoffish, but Sherry doesn't know why she's even surprised that he caught her. Jake always catches her.

The guilt comes back with a vengeance and Sherry averts her gaze. She stands and Jake's arms fall away from her.

"...Thanks," she says quietly. She takes a step away, but Jake's hand is suddenly on her upper arm, stopping her.

Sherry's head snaps back to him, dread and dismay rising in her as she takes in his furrowed brow, the determined set to his features. It's happening. She's not ready.

"Sherry—"

"We don't have to talk about it," she says quickly, panicked. Jake's frown deepens into a scowl. 

"Yeah, we do," he says firmly. "We can't work like this, Sherry, it's stupid. Look," Jake sighs, lets her go so he can rub his head. "I don't want this to end, all right?" He gestures at the space between the two of them, makes sure he has her eyes before he goes on, "I can accept you won't present to me if it means we can stay friends."

It looks like it costs him something to say that, but he does. His eyes are unwavering as they watch her and Sherry feels something like hope try to unfurl in her chest.

Because he's offering her an out. That's what this is. She'd be stupid not to take it.

"You...Do you mean that?" she asks, half-scared, half-doubtful. 

Jake doesn't let her down. "I do."

Overcome, Sherry can't speak for a long moment. The relief is so intense she feels weak from it. She was so sure this was the beginning of the end...

Sherry bridges the distance between them and slips her gloved hand in his. He starts, eyes wide again as he looks at her. Sherry smiles, happy and grateful and so, so undeserving of him.

"Thank you, Jake," she says softly.

Jake's the one to look away this time. But he squeezes her hand. His face looks a little pink.

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, gruff as he always is in the face of sincerity. It makes Sherry's smile widen and her heart is so full, so light—

Too late, she realizes the danger. Her smile drops slightly when she suddenly becomes aware of pressure around her ankle. But then it tightens and the world tilts sickeningly as she's wrenched to the forest floor. This time, Jake's too slow and their hands are snatched apart before she hits the ground— _hard—_ with a cry of startled pain.

"SHERRY—"

A harsh yank, pain _explodes_ around her leg, and then Sherry's being dragged across the ground, faster than she can keep up with. 

"JAKE!"

She barely catches a glimpse of Jake in the grasp of something before she's dragged away at a lurching, incredible speed. Scraping against rocks and tree trunks, she manages to twist onto her back, trying to _see_. Her wide eyes go to her ankle and she's horrified to see a huge, wet vine twisting up the length of her leg. Thick red spines protrude from it and tear through her boot and sink into skin as it twists ever-higher up her leg. 

Sherry blinks the pained tears from her vision, scrabbling for her boot. She's no sooner grabbed her combat knife when she's being hoisted straight up into the air. The disorientation threatens to make her puke, but then she looks up—or rather, _down—_ into the huge, gaping maw of some horrific perversion of a flower, huge and grotesque with a ring of sharp, yellowed teeth. Dozens of tiny, pink tendrils twist out of it, like feelers scenting the air.

Slicing at the vine does some damage, but it's too slow. It's lowering her towards its mouth and Sherry knows she won't free herself in time. Wrenching her arm behind her back, Sherry rips her handgun out of the holster and aims straight into the mouth. She takes a breath to steady her aim, feeling blood pooling in her boot, in her head. 

She unloads the clip.

The _sound_ it makes as it screams—Sherry wants to shield her ears, but she doesn't _dare_ stop firing. 

The plant writhes and the vine holding Sherry's leg goes crazy, waving her around like a rag doll before tossing her away.

Pain sears up her back as she crashes into a tree, hard enough to wonder if she's broken something. She gasps and lays there for a few seconds in the snow, the world spinning, her breaths coming in jerking, irregular hitches. Fire licks up her spine, up her mangled leg as her body rushes to heal, knitting bone and skin back together that's like getting the injuries all over again in one endless, excruciating cycle. 

Sounds begin filtering in. The creature, livid if the screams are telling her anything. Gunfire. Yelling. _Jake._

"Sherry! _Sherry!"_

"I'm okay," she whispers, staggering to her feet. She braces a hand on the tree, wipes the blood from the corner of her mouth. Already, she feels nearly whole again and she stands straight, spots her gun just a few feet away. "I'M OKAY!"

Sherry slides beneath an over-large vine and sweeps up her gun, aiming on one knee. She shoots a vine going for Jake and he executes a few impressive flips and jumps in an attempt to get back to her, crushing the more persistent ones beneath his heel.

Sherry has to move, trying to dodge what feels like _hundreds_ of these vines. She fires one last shot, then tucks and rolls as she reloads.

"I think we found the B.O.W.!" she shouts.

"Yeah, no shit!"

The sudden attack had disoriented her, but now Sherry's thinking straight. She reaches into her thigh pouch and grabs a few emergency flares. 

"Jake! Catch!" 

His back is to her, but she can always count on his reflexes. He catches the flares with a backflip and the moment he has them, she shouts instructions.

"We have to burn it!"

"Got it!"

Sherry reaches into her pouch, but her moment of distraction was enough. She has no time to defend herself when several vines snatch her up, twisting around the length of her body and _tightening._

A thousand hot knives slide into her skin, stabbing her straight through all at once. The vines twist, _dragging_ the barbs as they tear her open, _ripping_ open her skin to paint everything a bright red that steams in the open, frigid air.

Sherry couldn't hold back if she tried; she _screams._

It's _agony._ It's _worse_ than agony. It's the labs all over again, endless pain, endless blades carving her up like a favored guinea pig.

If she'd had half a second to prepare, she wouldn't have cried out like that; she knows how Jake gets when he hears her in pain, but there was simply _no time._ Every wound she gets feels like the first, _every time,_ because her body heals so completely; she has all new sensitive flesh and nerves, which means no scars, no calluses, no defense. And this thing is making her feel it all.

 _"SHERRY!"_

_Shit._ Jake sounds—not great, that's for sure _._ She hears a flare light up, but she can't focus on anything past getting free, past not being a liability. If Jake's distracted and gets hurt because of her, she'll never forgive herself.

Vision blurry, hardly able to see past the pain, Sherry grits her teeth and curls her fingers flat against her palm, just able to wiggle her wrist. It's the work of seconds, but it feels like _hours_ as she writhes, watching her blood pool over the vines and seep into the snow.

But she manages. Her middle fingertip taps against the butt of her nightstick and she shakes it down, gets her fingers around it and _yanks._

By some miracle, she doesn't drop it. She gets it in her grasp and extends it with a press of a button. 

Deep breath. This is going to hurt, but it's that or die. 

Sherry flips the switch, hears the crackle of electricity, and shoves the nightstick against the nearest part of the vine.

She groans but chokes back a scream as she and the plant get the full-force of millions of volts of electricity. Burning bark and flesh intertwine into a sickening stench and the creature's cries reach a crescendo.

All at once, the plant goes limp. Sherry falls from its grasp, catching herself on her hands and knees, her gloved fingers—now torn—sinking into the snow.

The smell of burning trees gets stronger and she looks up. Jake's shielding part of his face from the thick, noxious plumes of smoke, throwing his last flare into the plant's maw. It looks blackened and charred all over and it finally shrivels before their eyes, dead.

_Thank God._

Sherry lets her head fall back down, panting and wincing as the numerous wounds around her body begin to close up, as her body twitches in the final throes of shock. She hates how healing incapacitates her like this, but she does her best to choke back her cries. She doesn't want to freak Jake out again.

"Sherry!"

She hears Jake running towards her, boots crunching in the snow—and then abruptly stop.

Sherry raises her exhausted head as the last of the tremors leave her body, confused and starting to suspect the worst—that the plant isn't dead yet, that there's another one—

But Jake's staring at _her,_ eyes wide, mute shock making his lips part ever so slightly.

For a blissful, ignorant moment, she doesn't understand. She looks down at herself, thinking maybe it's all the blood or the sight of her wounds. But then she realizes how cold she is—not because she's in the snow, or because of the temperature, but because she's feeling the wind on her _bare_ skin, exposed from the barbs, now smooth and pink.

She twitches, and the white she'd mistook for snow moves in tandem.

Because they're her wings. They're blood-stained but still resplendent white, pieces of their binding scattered around her, and she sees them unfurled at her wrists. 

Feels them exposed at her ankles.

And her back.

She can feel them, open and spanning from her back, feathers ruffling in the open air. Her clothes are shredded, barely held together by tatters, but she couldn't care less about looking indecent.

Because Jake is looking right at her. Now, Jake _knows._

 _"No,"_ she whispers, all the blood draining from her face. The word falls from her lips, a plea, a prayer, "No. No. No. No, no, no, nonono _nonono—"_

Jake takes a step forward, the shock on his face all she can see. He holds out a cautioning hand, the way people do when they approach something wild. Something dangerous. 

"Sherry..." He takes another step.

Her wings snap out with a deafening crack, spanning the length of her body and then some. Jake sucks in a sharp breath, recognizing the inherent threat.

All at once, looking at Jake, being near him, is _impossible._ Unbearable. 

Her skin crawls. Everything's over. He knows. _He knows._

A single flap of her wings propels her straight up with the speed of a gunshot. Sherry's never felt a single good thing about her wings before, but right now, having multiple sets is working to her advantage, lending her a speed even Jake can't compete with, not when she has a headstart.

"Wait! Sherry, don't!"

Sherry turns and shoots off higher and further up the mountain and, most importantly—

Away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg guys please tell me what you think. I'm not too confident writing action scenes and generally try to avoid them whenever possible, but it was pretty unavoidable for the sake of this fic, haha. Was it good? Bad? 
> 
> Also, I may not be original, but I swear I wrote this scene/setting before the RE8 trailer came out. But if anything, doesn't this make it feel more like canon? lol
> 
> I am excited about this new entry in the RE series, though. A village setting? In the winter? With cults? Witches maybe? WEREWOLVES? IN MY RESIDENT EVIL?! Sign me the fuck up! Not to mention, my boy Chris is back to looking like a brick shithouse THANK GOD. (That part where he like, quadruple-taps who I'm assuming to be Mia? Right in front of Ethan's fucking face? Definitely wasn't supposed to be funny, but I was CRYING fam, like, the extra-ness of it all...the savagery...Chris The King is a LEGEND...)
> 
> Unfortunately, it does look like Capcom has no intention of picking up the threads of all these characters they've introduced and then left to the wayside, i.e. Jake, Sherry, Natalia, Myra, Maria—I could go on, but won't because it's so depressing. Oh, well, I'm a RE fan through and through, which means I'm a bit of a masochist.
> 
> Btw, for those who are interested, the temp title I had for this chapter while I was writing it was, That's Germany, baby! jsyk
> 
> Next chapter comes Monday, but I might post a follow up early if the interest is there. Until then, thanks again so much for reading!
> 
> (~￣³￣)~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYSGUYSGUYSGUYSGUYSGUYS  
> If you didn't notice, I edited the previous chapter to include the absolutely gorgeous art done by the insanely talented [Beastie!](https://www.instagram.com/thebeastiaryart/) The following picture of Sherry, in all her winged glory, and the comic were done by her and will seriously blow you away! Please check it out and yell with me into the void!!! ＼（T∇T）／
> 
> Teaching myself enough HTML to insert pics into this thing is why this chapter is being posted so much later in the day than usual, lol. Thanks for your patience!

* * *

Sherry flies without any regard to which direction she's choosing or where she's going. She flies high long enough to circle the mountain, snow starting to fall like fog around her, before she remembers that Jake can fly too. That thought sends her into an entirely new level of panic.

Her head whips over her shoulder and she leans, tipping herself to the side, and catches it—a dark flash of movement, a streak of black through the white.

Jake, giving chase.

The sight chills her straight through, more piercing than the icy wind or snow. She'd had the element of surprise, but Jake's wings are large, _huge,_ and he's had years of practice. He'll catch her.

Sherry draws her wings in with hardly a thought and plunges straight down as if she were shot from the sky. The moment she hits the tree line, they burst open again, banking her as she dives low, weaving between the thick cover of trees at an agonizingly slower pace to keep her wings from giving her away. She's clumsy, bumping against trees, branches scratching at her body and breaking off in the beat of her wings, but she doesn't stop, just pushes through. She'll heal. 

The cold nips at her skin, sinking into her bones from all the tears in her clothes. She barely feels it. Her thoughts don't go any further than the immediate, the surface level. Instinctive things that scream _HIDE_ and _YOU'RE DISGUSTING_ and _HE'LL FIND YOU._

She can't face Jake. She doesn't know how she's ever going to. 

So she doesn't think about it. She just flies. 

The wind and the cold aren't content to be ignored, however, making the beat of her wings grow sluggish and stiff. She starts shivering and can't stop. Her eyes stop focusing on what's in front of her and start looking around, searching for shelter. Even if she wanted to turn around—and she _doesn't_ —she can't. Without her phone, she's hopelessly lost. She needs to find a place to land, soon, because her wings won't last. And after healing so many times in such quick succession, exhaustion is pulling her down more than anything else. Her only choices are to find a place to rest or die of hypothermia.

Feeling like a thing hunted, Sherry creeps out of the trees, scouring the countryside for a hint of light or a building. It's a slow, dragging search because she keeps checking over her shoulder, ready to flee into the forest at the first hint of movement.

At long last, she crests a hill and spots it in the distance: a delipidated structure made of rock, pale stone turned black in the fading sunlight.

It's a castle, although a small one. Maybe a fortress? It's just a few stories tall and built nestled against the side of a mountain. Trees and grass and ivy have made good progress overtaking one side of the stucture and wind has smoothed the once-stark edges of the parapet. A lone tower rises a few stories from the far side, and there's a cathedral-window big enough for her to squeeze through.

Sherry circles it warily, but it's obviously abandoned. The darkness inside is far from welcoming, but it's better than being outside, exhausting herself until she falls from the sky and snaps her neck.

Sherry lands heavily on the edge of the window, wincing as her wings finally fold in against her back and tuck up against her arms and ankles. They're sore and strained, used too vigorously after so long without proper exercise. It's a good thing she's found a place to rest because she's not sure she can take off again.

She peeks inside, hesitant to enter. 

It's dusty. Cobwebs gather in the corners and on the ceiling. Debris, dirt, and leaves litter the flagstones. There's no furniture, only a small, ancient blackened fireplace carved into the wall and a faded tapestry so old and moth-eaten it doesn't have a discernable color. There's a small set of stairs plunging deeper into the darkness, but Sherry has no interest in exploring.

It's depressing, but Sherry's completely drained, freezing, and out of options. The remaining tatters of her boots touch the stone floor as she pulls herself inside.

With weary steps, Sherry walks to the fireplace and reaches for the tapestry. It comes away with a loud rip and she coughs at the cloud of dust she kicks off. She wraps herself in it, hugging it tight, and finds a corner that doesn't seem to have any spiders.

Sitting on the barren floor, Sherry curls up, pulling her knees tight to her body, shivering pathetically, eyes on the window she came in through. There's no way she'll get any sleep here. She'll have to watch the last of the sunlight fade and then she'll just be here. Stranded. Cold. Alone. Still a freak.

Sherry buries her head against her knees, trying to make herself as small as possible as abject misery and self-loathing swamp her completely. She's finally too weak to resist their siren call anymore and she has to swallow against the force of those emotions. She thinks it might feel better if she cried, but she can't. She's gone so long refusing to it's like she's forgotten how.

She can't get Jake's face out of her head. The plain shock on his normally stoic features. Even when he'd seen her healed, he'd retained a bit of that level-headedness she could always count on. But then again, he'd only seen a few of her feathers that had escaped her binding. This was something else entirely.

He must think her so ugly. 

It's a childish, vain thought, and she hates herself for caring, but she does. Jake's come to mean a lot to her in a very short amount of time, but it's all been for nothing. She was so concerned with herself that she let the enemy get the drop on them and now she has to deal with the consequences. 

Sherry bites back a whine, screwing her eyes shut, trying to disappear into the floor. 

More than the tests, more than the fact that they stood out, more than the constant reminder of the single-most traumatizing experience of her life—more than _anything,_ her wings remind her so starkly of her father.

Usually, when parents had two different colored wings, the child either took after one or the other. Hybrid colors and patterns happened, but they were rare, special. Sherry had been so proud to take after both her parents with her brown, gray-speckled wings. There were times when she felt less like their child and more like an annoying pet that kept asking to be fed. But her wings helped. They reminded her that there _was_ a connection there and the few good memories she has with them—in those brief snatches they could spare between their research—are happy. A warm smile, a tender hand, loving words of praise when they'd preen her gently, almost surprised themselves that they'd created something so beautiful.

But then the nightmare crashed around her, and with it came her father's mutation, the way he hounded her relentlessly across the city. Every time he found her, he looked less and less human. His flesh swollen and bulging, his screams growing more guttural and garbled, and that eye that grew and grew until it was larger than Sherry's head, bloodshot and always zeroing in on her with frightening intensity.

His wings were the worst part of his evolving deformity, though. Gone were the light brown wings he'd always kept so neat and sensibly tucked away. She'd watched in mounting horror as the brown plumes melted away in oozing clumps, as new, bigger ones grew in their place—blindingly white and unnatural. Mishappen lumps sprouted along his spine and arms, more feathers protruding to drag along the ground. He didn't have the mental acuity to fly, but he glided when he jumped to ambush her and Claire, even deadlier when he could cover more ground. By the end, he'd looked like a grotesque lump of bleeding, pulsing flesh and countless deformed wings, nothing but a twisted perversion of anything natural.

And Sherry's wings look just like his. 

Sherry's known for most of her life that, at least on a DNA level, she's not much different from the B.O.W.s that they eliminate. But now Jake _knows._ She doesn't think he'll try to kill her, at least, but how can they continue on like this? When Jake knows how she's lied to him, when she's let him believe she was normal?

They can't. It's as simple as that.

Sherry doesn't know how long she sits there on the filthy floor, shivering and miserable, thoughts a spiraling, depressing black hole. But it's long enough that when a noise reaches her ears and her head snaps up, it's almost pitch black outside.

But the moonlight is more than enough to see by and it's only too easy to recognize Jake, pulling himself in from the window.

They both freeze. Sherry's heart threatens to drown out all sound, beating harshly in her throat. 

Jake's body language _screams_ wary caution. He has one foot planted on the flagstones and the other still balanced on the sill. His hands brace him against the window, fingers curled over the edge and wings tucked close to better squeeze through. His dark eyes are hard to read from this distance.

Slowly, Jake brings his other leg in and Sherry can _feel_ her pupils dilate in fear. All she can see is the fact that he's blocking her exit. 

Her eyes dart to the stairs.

"Don't run away again," Jake says suddenly. His hands are back out and he kneels slightly to better meet her eyes. He tucks his wings in, struggling in the small space as his feathers brush the floor. He's trying so hard to be nonthreatening, not realizing that just being nearby is sending Sherry's survival instincts through the roof.

She shoots a furtive glance at the distance between him and the stairs again.

"Sherry! _Please."_

That manages to pierce the haze of shock and fear because Jake...he _never_ begs. Never. The sheer novelty of it keeps her in place—for the moment. 

When she doesn't move he seems to flounder for a moment, unsure. Sherry doesn't help him, staring, waiting. A small part of her hopes he'll simply turn around and fly back out that window, put them both out of their misery. But he doesn't.

She can see his adam's apple bob as he swallows. Slowly, he comes closer.

Sherry's hackles rise despite logic telling her that Jake's her friend. 

"Easy," he says. "It's just me. It's okay." 

His voice is a low murmur and he keeps up the little reassurances until he's an arms-length away. Jake reaches out and Sherry shrinks as far as she can into the corner, resisting the urge to _claw_ into the stone. Her heart pounds, imagining him ripping the tapestry away, exposing her wings.

 _"Don't!"_ The words come out hard, edged with panic. "Don't touch me!" If she still had her gun, she'd draw it. But it's gone, along with her bindings, her phone, her supplies, her sense of safety—all of it lost amongst blood-splattered snow.

"Okay, okay," Jake lowers his hands, although she can tell he still sorely wants to reach out. It's there in the tension that threads itself through his body, the purse of his lips and the way his eyes are unblinking as he watches her. "Just—it's okay, Sherry. You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you."

She almost laughs in his face. Sherry's heard that one before. _A few more tests today. It'll be over soon. Just try to endure it._

Her disbelief must show on her face because Jake switches tactics. He catches her eyes and his face smooths in a familiar way, determined. Stubborn. 

"Do you trust me?" he asks her.

Sherry stares at him, stricken. It's just—It's not that _simple._ This isn't about trust, it's about opening herself up to more pain. It's about the fact that whatever he says about her wings, whatever his face will look like when he takes the time to really _look,_ will forever be burned into her memory. He'll haunt her nightmares. And when he leaves, that's all she'll have to remember him by.

It's about protecting herself and—and—

Jake doesn't say anything. He just watches her, eyes like steel. That steady gaze pulls her in despite herself, a siren call of safety and support that she's come to rely on more and more with each passing day.

...She's lying to herself. It's an unavoidable truth. This _is_ about trust. Sherry clenches her hands into fists, unseen as she stares at Jake, wavering. No matter her feelings on the matter, it all boils down to one simple fact:

Either she trusts Jake not to hurt her, or she doesn't. And while most of her doesn't want to give him the chance, she simply doesn't want to give up on Jake. Not when it looks like he hasn't given up on her.

Eventually, hesitantly, Sherry nods. It's the slightest movement, but he sees it because he hasn't taken his eyes off of her for a second.

His shoulders lose a bit of that tense line, relieved. He doesn't waste any time.

He gets close, fingers achingly gentle as they find her fists in the tapestry and coax them to loosen their hold. 

_I trust him. I trust him. I trust him._ She has to keep reminding herself of that so she doesn't push him away and dive for the window.

Just like she'd feared, he drops the tapestry from her shoulders. But he doesn't pull her wings out into the scant light, doesn't make her show him. Instead, he quickly jerks off his own coat and settles it around her shoulders.

Sherry blinks in shock but pulls it close a second later, already greedily leeching the heat that comes around her. She'd already forgotten how cold she is.

He grabs the tapestry and wraps it back around her, over the jacket.

"All right, here we go," he murmurs, and then he gathers her into his arms and stands.

Sherry goes rigid. Jake doesn't move, just stands there with her bundled in his arms. A broad hand sweeps up and down her back, skirting her wings by tracing her spine.

"It's all right. I've got you." His voice is a low rumble in his chest. He doesn't sound angry or worried or upset. He's calm. Confident. Ready to make this all go away. "Let's get you somewhere warm, yeah?"

Jake's waiting for her answer, she realizes. He has her, he could just _take_ her—but he's waiting for her permission. 

Her tension snaps and she gives in. Sherry lets her head fall, buries her face against Jake's neck as she takes a few unsteady breaths. 

"...Yes," she whispers. "Please."

Jake squeezes her slightly, reassuring. "You got it, super girl."

Sherry closes her eyes, soaking in Jake's warmth, his solidness as he takes her away. It still feels like the other shoe has yet to drop, but she's going to trust Jake. There's no other choice.

Jake kicks off the window and his wings snap out. They catch a gust of air and they fly high above the trees and away into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, my inspiration for the castle/fortress [here.](https://www.touropia.com/gfx/d/castles-in-germany/lichtenstein_castle.jpg?v=0d343c0f0ca763f983c8042350059f56?here.</a)
> 
> (~￣³￣)~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's Monday (and thus, update time) already! Last month I spent a lot of my free time either working or writing for a fic exchange and what was supposed to be a simple one-shot ended up being...involved, to say the least. I'm dead. Works won't be revealed until the 7th, so if there's any FFVII fans over here, keep an eye out! And maybe tell me what you think?
> 
> As for this chapter, please read and enjoy! HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE ANGST (ʃƪ¬‿¬)

Sherry's thought about what it would be like to fly just for the sake of flying in Jake's arms; just _being_ in his arms, really. But she never lingered on it, always wrenched her thoughts back on track when she caught herself daydreaming. No point torturing herself with something that would never happen, after all.

But despite those too-brief wonderings, it's just as she'd imagined. _Better,_ even. They're hundreds of feet in the air, sailing over and past mountains, but Sherry isn't worried about the drop. Jake's arms are like iron around her, firm and unyielding. The rocking motion of his wings beating makes the bone-deep weariness she's kept at bay return with a vengeance and soon her eyes slip closed. Not quite awake, not quite asleep, simply drifting. Her forehead is the warmest point of contact where it rests against Jake's neck and she drinks it in. With her wearing his coat, he must be so cold.

She stirs when Jake begins to descend and one peek has that fleeting calm disappearing completely. The village looms closer and Sherry's eyes track every beam of light shining from the windows, every dark silhouette moving through the snow.

 _There's too many._ If they see her—If they're surrounded, she won't escape. She's weak, and drained, and sleep-deprived, and still recovering from blood loss, and even if she runs she'll only get so far before she collapses—

"Shh, shh," Jake presses his lips to her hair, speaking lowly in her ear. He must feel how she's gone rigid. "It's all right, I've got you. Nothing's going to happen to you, I promise."

 _Jake._ Jake will protect her, she knows this. Sherry tries to relax, but doesn't quite get there. Her hand drifts to his shirt and grabs a fistful, tense. Even covered, she feels so exposed.

They land in the trees bordering the village.

"Here," Jake shifts his hold long enough to reach out with a free hand. He tugs the fur-lined hood of his coat over Sherry's face. "Better?"

She can barely see anything aside from Jake's chest. Which means it'll be difficult for anyone to see _her._ Sherry nods her head, then realizes Jake probably can't see it.

"Yes," she croaks. Jake presses her a little firmer to his chest in reassurance.

"All right. Almost there."

Jake takes a moment to make sure she's secure, tugging a bit of the tapestry fabric over her feet so she's almost completely covered, and then he sets off.

Even with her limited visibility, Sherry can tell that Jake avoids any main roads, sticking to dark alleys and dirt trails over the few paved roads and sidewalks. She can't speak for how grateful she is for it. They don't interact with another soul until Jake shoulders open the door to an inn. The hotel HQ had secured for them is near the airport, nearly two hours away. It would probably be better if they flew straight there, but Sherry's unspeakably thankful Jake's choosing the closer option, even if it means going without their stuff. She wants four walls and a door _now,_ not later. 

A woman's voice, alarmed, greets Sherry's ears and she cringes into Jake. Her exhausted mind can only register the foreign language as accusatory, probing.

Jake replies, tone assertive and cool, his German fluent—at least as far as she can tell. The exchange is brief—she can hear the jingle of keys—and then Jake moves away, carrying Sherry up the dark, creaking steps.

Jake fumbles at the door and then with a single step they're inside. He kicks the door shut behind them and Sherry can finally breathe. Being in the open, knowing she was just a stray glance from being caught, is an experience she will _not_ be repeating. It's hell on her nerves.

She expects Jake to set her down, but he seems determined to surprise her tonight. He takes them further in and into the small hallway. He half-nudges, half-kicks open two doors before finding the bathroom and he flicks on the light with his elbow.

"Okay." He sets her down on the toilet seat and kneels in front of her. His gloved hand settles on her knee as he reaches up to tug her hood down. 

"Hey," a warm palm rests lightly on the side of her head. "You good?"

Sherry can only take the concern in those piercing eyes for a scant second before she has to look away. This close, she can make out the blue in his iris, the slight color that keeps his eyes from being truly grey.

"Yeah." Deep breath. "...Thank you."

Jake's lips twitch up. "Don't mention it." He looks around, eyes lingering on the tub. He gives her knee a squeeze. "Sit tight."

Her mind feels sluggish, like she hasn't slept in _years._ She'd lost a lot of blood earlier and that, combined with the fight, running from Jake, and nearly freezing to death—it's been a challenging mission, to say the least. 

Still, it takes her far too long and too many heavy blinks to absorb the view of Jake running a bath before she realizes he must be running it for _her._ She just stares blankly as he reaches for a hotel-size bottle of soap and gives it a curious sniff. He makes a 'not bad' face and upends it, squeezing an excessive amount in. His face looks so serious and concentrated as he watches the bubbles froth up, but Sherry doesn't have the mental acuity to laugh.

She opens her mouth to say—

What? She's filthy. Dusty and dirty from sitting in that tower, still coated in flaking blood from wounds long-gone. She _needs_ a bath.

The sound of rushing water suddenly cutting off makes her blink her eyes back open. She hadn't even noticed herself drifting...

"I'm gonna go find you something to wear. Go ahead and hop in."

And then Jake _leaves._ He doesn't take the tapestry, doesn't try to see her wings again. He just—closes the door on his way out. 

Sherry stares at the door for an endless stretch of time. When it sinks in Jake isn't going to barge right back in and demand that she _show_ him, she raises her shaking her hands to her face and takes a few steadying breaths. She's not sure what she was expecting from him, but it certainly wasn't— _this._ Not patience and space and—acting like nothing's wrong. He hasn't acknowledged her wings _once,_ not really. It's getting to her. 

The temptation to run away hasn't fully abated either. But where would she go? Without anything to bind her wings, she wouldn't make it far. And no one else would help her.

Unsteady, Sherry manages to stand. She presses her lips together in a thin, bloodless line as she lets the tapestry fall, sheds Jake's coat, and begins the painstaking process of peeling the tattered remains of her clothes and boots from her body. The sensation of tugging the blood-soaked and stiff fabric from her skin isn't _as_ horrible as getting the actual tears had been, but it's a close thing. Pretty soon, she has a sizeable pile of bloody, dirty rags at her feet. She unsticks her feet from the soles of her boots and tosses the torn leather aside carelessly—they've been so thoroughly ruined she knows she won't ever wear them again. 

The water is just shy of too-hot when Sherry dips her foot in and it's _perfect._ Suddenly, she's only aware of how cold she's been all this time and she climbs into the tub hurriedly, sinking until her chin rests in the water.

Sherry closes her eyes, head resting tiredly on the edge of the tub. After so much constant stress, it feels almost decadent to sit still in a safe, warm place. But passing out and drowing in the bath would be a poor way to repay Jake after he went to all the trouble of bringing her here, so she reaches for the washcloth draped over the side.

Sherry stretches out a pale hand and stops, eyes catching on her dripping wing, tucked against the length of her forearm. 

A wave of disgust and hatred so all-consuming washes over her then, so thick she nearly chokes on it. All of this—all of this pain, all of this suffering—it's because of these _things._ They're disgusting, horrific, _wrong_ —and she hates them.

She hates herself.

Sherry brings her arm in close, staring at her wing for a small eternity. Almost as if she's disconnected from her body, she watches herself grip a long white feather and _yank._ It comes out with a sharp pain and blood wells up in thick globules, sliding down her arm and into the bathwater in swirls of faint pink.

Hardly before she's done, she feels the fiery sting of her healing activating. New, fluffy down pushes up from the hole she's made and she gasps around the white-hot slide of it, like a knife.

Panting, she stares, hopeless anger and disgust swelling fit to burst in her chest, all-consuming, crowding out every other thought. She knows it won't work, but she can't _accept_ being trapped in this body, with these _things_ pushing out of her skin, sprouting all over her body like something monstrous, marking _her_ as a monster—

Sherry plucks another feather, and then another, and even as they try to heal frustration and desperation wells to clog her throat and she grabs _handfuls,_ ripping them out messily, quickly, like if she can just do it fast enough she can escape them, can escape her own blood.

But she can't escape it. This is her. This shameful body, these awful wings—they're with her forever. Her father made sure of that. 

She doesn't care, though. She reaches for another handful of feathers, blood pouring down her arm, feathers stained pink floating around her and breath coming in raggedly—

But two hands suddenly snatch at her wrists, yanking her arms apart.

Startled, Sherry looks straight up into Jake's wide eyes. Behind him, the door sits open, still swinging, and a robe lays discarded on the floor—for her. He must have been calling her name for a while.

Gone is the cool control and confidence of before; Jake looks seconds from bursting. 

"What the _FUCK_ _?!"_

A churning swirl of shame and resentful anger mixes in her stomach. Sherry looks away. 

"...Sorry," she says. Then she tacks on, "It'll heal."

"I don't give a _fuck_ that you can heal, Sherry." Ah. First name. He must be really upset. "This—you are _not_ pulling this shit again, you understand me?"

Sherry tenses. She tries to pull her hands away, but Jake holds fast and she glares up at him.

 _"Promise me,_ Sherry," he says, matching her glare and then some. His eyes are stormy in a way she rarely sees. 

And suddenly, it's intolerable that Jake's angry when he has no right to. It's _her_ body, disgusting and wrong as it is. What business is it of his what she does with it?

"It doesn't _matter,_ Jake," she starts, angry. 

_"Bullshit,"_ Jake interrupts brutally. His grip is tight around her wrists, like he can impress his words on her that way. "It matters to me, and I'm being fucking serious here. Either you promise me right here, right now, that you'll never hurt yourself like this again, or I'm fucking handcuffing myself to you." Sherry's mouth opens and he cuts her off. "Fucking _try me."_

 _...He really means that,_ she realizes incredulously. Jake's never been one for idle threats and she decides against tempting him, not willing to risk _that_ particular threat. She stares at him but her glare falters in the face of his anger. She drops her gaze to her knees, peeking out amidst cloudy pink water and feathers skimming the surface like little white boats.

"...Fine. I promise."

Jake stares into her eyes, wary. When the silence grows long enough that Sherry considers telling him to leave, he sighs explosively and reluctantly lets her go. Immediately, Sherry wraps her arms around her knees, staring unseeingly into the water. Jake sits heavily against the tub, throwing his head back against the edge. He closes his eyes and they sit there for a few moments in silence, no sounds but the soft lap of water against the sides of the tub.

When long minutes stretch and her heartbeat returns to normal, she finds her eyes lingering on Jake's face the longer he sits there. His skin is a little paler than normal. His frown is deeper, more pronounced than usual, hinting at true unhappiness instead of feigned annoyance. He looks as exhausted as she is, and guilt, an old friend at that point, surges once more.

Tentatively, Sherry raises her hand out of the water. She wipes her palm on the washcloth and places it, dry enough, gently on Jake's forehead. He sucks in a quiet breath at her touch.

"I'm sorry, Jake," she apologizes softly. This time, she means it. She's hurt him, she can see that now.

Jake doesn't say anything. His hand comes up and lays flat over her own. With a start, Sherry realizes he's shaking.

"Just—don't do it again, okay?" His tone is devoid of anger, this time tired, pleading. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Why do you care?" She stiffens. That wasn't _at all_ what she'd meant to say, but the words, they'd—slipped out.

Jake twists, pulling her hand away but keeping it in his grasp, fingers scorching as they curl loosely around her wrist. He looks straight into Sherry's eyes.

"What." There's not a drop of emotion in his tone. 

Sherry wants very badly to pull away again, but it might send the wrong message. She shrugs uncomfortably, growing more and more aware that they're having this conversation while she's naked. Between the foamy suds and water, she's covered, but still. If their missions hadn't long conditioned her to being in various states of undress and seeing Jake the same way—due to conditions outside of their control—she was sure she'd be having a harder time dealing with this.

"I mean...you've seen me. Them," her voice drops to a whisper. "No one would blame you if— _I_ wouldn't blame you if you—"

"If I _what?"_ A definite edge creeps into his voice. Sherry tries to sink further into the water.

"If you...left," she manages. "Jake—" There's no escaping the simple truth. She turns a beseeching expression on him. "I— _Look_ at me." Her wings twitch, all three sets of them at her back. "I'm a monster—"

_"NO."_

Jake's so absolute, his voice reaching a level of cold anger Sherry's never heard before. It steals the breath from her lungs and she clamps her mouth shut, staring at Jake, heart racing.

In contrast to his demeanor, his hand carefully turns, threading their fingers together. Jake presses their palms together, warm and slightly slick, and Sherry's smaller wing brushes against Jake.

He doesn't flinch, doesn't wince. He doesn't even _blink._ He stares into Sherry's eyes with that impassioned determination that first caught her eyes what feels like ages ago.

"That's the biggest load of shit I've ever heard in my life. You don't have a bad bone in your _body,_ Sherry. You're the most selfless, caring, kind person I've ever fucking met." Jake squeezes her hand and Sherry can't do anything other than watch the scene unfold, mute with shock. "I don't know who made you feel this way, but they were wrong, okay? Dead wrong."

Jake opens his mouth, then closes it, lips pressed tight against something. He frowns heavily and his eyes fall to where their hands are joined.

Jake shifts his hold again to bring Sherry's knuckles to his forehead. His eyes slip closed and his expression smooths slightly. His chest rises and falls in a silent sigh. Sherry's heartbeat is like thunder in her ears.

"I care because..." Jake's face screws up, words escaping him. "Because I care, all right? So no more _plucking,_ Jesus. You're gonna give me a fucking heart attack."

The quiet that falls after that little speech is heavy. But there's something less intense about it at the same time. Jake, at least, seems to have said his piece and Sherry's just left there to turn his words over and over in her spinning head, trying to make sense of something senseless. 

After all, this isn't how it was supposed to go. When someone sees her wings, they only have two reactions: disgust or scientific curiosity. She's either a monster or a specimen. Even with Claire in her corner, she just can't convince herself otherwise. After years of ceaseless experimentation, it's easier to believe that Claire is an exception, not the rule.

But now Jake...

Sherry doesn't know what to think. 

A touch at her wrist makes her flinch and she freezes at the sight of Jake turning her hand over, studying her wing tucked against her forearm. Sherry holds her breath, tense and ready for anything. If he touches it, tries to tug it out so he can stare, she'll—she'll—

Jake keeps her hand prisoner but turns to kneel at the tub. He takes the washcloth and silently dips it in the warm bathwater. A few dunks, a squeeze, and then he brings her arm back over the tub and carefully wipes over her feathers. He does a few passes, getting rid of most of the blood, and then he switches to finger combing the bigger clumps of blood, straightening and smoothing crooked and ragged feathers.

Heart lodged somewhere in her throat, Sherry can't manage so much as a breath, let alone a protest. No one's...no one's ever touched her so gently before. Careful, like she's something _worthy_ of care. 

If feels wrong. But it also feels startlingly _good._ She can't remember the last time she'd bothered to preen herself, even this much. She's never let anyone else try, not even Claire.

"What—" She has to swallow, her throat is so dry. "What are you doing?" Her voice is a thread of sound, robbed of strength.

Jake glances up at her but doesn't pause. "Well, I can't trust you to take care of these right now. So I'm doing it." His hand, big and broad, does one final pass over the length of her wing and smooths it back down against her forearm. "Gimme your other one," he orders, tapping the edge of the tub.

Nonplussed, Sherry hesitates, but ultimately gives in. She lifts her arm out of the suds and tentatively holds it out, confused but too consumed by the novelty of it to protest.

The gentle cascade of water as Jake dips the washcloth in the tub fills the air, water lapping at the tub walls when Sherry has to shift so Jake can reach her back. It's an incredible effort not to lash out when he starts on her three sets of wings, but despite the difficulty of cleaning so many wings of clotted blood and debris, it doesn't hurt once. Her knees stay pulled tight to her chest and her hands cross over her ankles. After a few minutes of the repetitive stroking, her eyes fall shut. She's not completely relaxed, but it's a near thing. Jake knows what he's doing. She idly wonders who he's preened in the past.

Sherry's eyes blink open when Jake finally pulls back and Sherry carefully stretches her wings in the confines of the tub. They're heavier than usual, water-logged, but she definitely feels cleaner.

"That all?" Jake asks. 

Sherry blinks at him, unsure. She could say yes, but there doesn't seem to be a point now. Trust, right?

The tub is still covered in a good foamy barrier, so she leans her back against the wall and lifts a dripping foot. The small wing at her ankle flaps weakly.

Sherry's face is warm, but it's nothing to the flush that covers Jake's face. She smiles, silently laughing at him, but he doesn't notice, too busy keeping his eyes averted and clearing his throat.

"Right."

They don't speak as he first cleans and finger-combs one ankle-wing, and then the other in careful, thorough sweeps. One hand holds the back of her ankle and, perhaps subconsciously, Jake's thumb will rub against her skin, reassuring and calming. His eyes are intent on the task and Sherry has to hold in a shiver. It's the vulnerability, but it has nothing to do with the fact that she'd naked. She's baring her darkest secret to Jake and he's meeting it head-on, as level-headed and unflappable as ever. It's...surreal.

It's still a relief when Jake finishes and she can slip her feet beneath the water, out of sight. The stress of being so exposed for so long is exhausting her faster than anything else that's happened in the last twenty-four hours. Jake looks much the same.

Jake gathers up the fallen items he'd dropped on his way in—a fluffy towel and a robe. 

"I'll leave these here for you," he says, placing them on the small bathroom counter. He points to the robe. "I cut a few extra wing holes, so you should be good."

Talking about them openly is _so_ weird. "O-okay. Thank you."

"Yeah," Jake rubs at the back of his neck, shoots Sherry one last, undecipherable look. "See you in a bit?"

Sherry nods, about all she can manage right now. Jake nods back.

"Cool." He turns and leaves. The door clicks softly shut.

Sherry watches the door for a long while, unseeing. She...can't believe all of that just happened. 

It was one thing for Jake not to attack her on sight, even in surprise. It was quite another for—all _that._

Blushing, Sherry pulls her arm to her chest, stroking a wing beneath the water. She can still feel the phantom touch of Jake's hands all over her, so gentle, so careful. Sherry had paid close attention to him, knowing that if his nonchalance was a facade, she'd see through it. _No one_ was that good of an actor, not when they had to physically interact with the object of their disgust up close and personal.

But that was the thing. Jake... _hadn't_ been disgusted. He hadn't seemed revolted by her wings, hadn't shown the slightest bit of hesitance when it came to touching them. He just looked focused. Intent. Like all he cared about was getting the job done, and doing it well.

Sherry raises her hand from the water, stretches her dripping wing out wide. It reaches a measly two hand-spans, barely even a foot, but it was a foot of feathers where there was supposed to be none. For so long, she'd stared at these white feathers and wished they'd fall off. She'd hoped every single time her wings had been cut they wouldn't grow back, _prayed_ that she'd wake up and their very existence would be nothing more than a bad dream. They're sickening. They don't belong. They're _wrong._

Jake doesn't agree with any of that, though. He'd chased her when she ran. He'd shielded her from prying eyes and light. He'd cleaned and groomed each and every one of her wings like...like...

_Like they were just a part of me._

Sherry sits in the tub until the water starts to grow tepid. But even as she stands and drains the water, starts the shower and scrubs her skin of the blood and dirt and dust, she keeps turning that thought over in her head, again and again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I done torturing these two??? Only two chapters to go, guess we'll see... (¬‿¬)
> 
> (comment? maybe? (・ωｰ)～☆)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monday already? I swear, time isn't real...
> 
> Just wanted to throw a quick shout-out to everyone who's commented: You're the real MVPs! Each update is because of you!

Stepping into the robe Jake left her is awful.

Not because it doesn't fit; the fit is actually perfect, plush and soft, falling to just below her knees. Her wings slide through the factory-made wing holes—and the ones Jake added—easily. She'd dried her feathers the best she could but they're still damp and the slightest movement stirs a cool air that makes her pull the robe tight. 

And therein lies the problem. It's... _way_ too much exposure. She knows she needs to air-dry for at least an hour, but it's worse than being naked, this expectation that she's supposed to parade around with her wings out where someone could see her— _will_ see her. She'd take that filthy tapestry if she thought for a second Jake hadn't already thrown it out.

But there's nothing for it. Jake's apparently set on proving that he doesn't care about them and she's...trying to let him. 

_This is Jake,_ she reminds herself. _He won't hurt me._

Slowly, Sherry steps out into the hall. The hardwood floors are a deep, dark brown, well-trodden and shiny from years of varnishing. It matches the rest of the place now that she's looking around, all of it old, well-maintained rustic furniture and fixtures. The inn is definitely old, but it feels a little more personable than a standard hotel. Tonight, Sherry's grateful for it. Austere, soulless furniture and pale walls are the last thing she needs right now.

Sherry creeps down the short hall, unsurprised to see a light beckoning from the sitting room. She glances into the open bedrooms she passes but doesn't even consider escaping behind a locked door. She's sure Jake wants an explanation and she owes him at least that much after the way she acted. Also, she knows without a doubt that if she tried it Jake would simply break the door down.

The thought should scare her, but it doesn't. It's fondness that sweeps over her at the thought. It's just...so _Jake._

She finds Jake in the tiny kitchenette, sliding a carafe of coffee back into its holder. He looks over at her above the rim of his cup, a quick, surreptitious head-to-toe check-up. She tries her best to look completely different from that pathetic, crazy person he'd left in the bathroom.

"Finished?" Without waiting for an answer, he plucks another steaming mug off the counter by the rim, holds it out, and presses it into her hands when she's close enough. "Here. Back in a sec."

He brushes past her and takes the bathroom. A moment later, the shower starts up.

Sherry looks down into her coffee, soaking in the heat seeping into her palms. This is such a parallel to how she'd woken up; waiting with bated breath for whatever Jake was going to say, wracked with guilt, unsure what the future would hold. Sherry takes a sip of coffee and closes her eyes as it goes down, already doctored just the way she likes it. At least coffee never changes.

Clinging to that small bit of normalcy, Sherry settles at the table. It takes her a little longer than it should, but she's still so unused to having her wings out and she barely raises them in time to avoid sitting on them. Thank god the sleeves of her robe are keeping the other ones tucked away or she'd probably dunk one in her coffee or something equally embarrassing.

Jake won't take long, she knows, so she uses the precious time alone to organize her thoughts. 

First and foremost is the near-crippling amount of guilt. Guilt for lying to Jake, for hurting him that first night, and then again and again with her silence, for keeping secrets, for making him question their partnership, for running off like she had—the list is endless. How Jake could even stand to be in the same room with her, she can't fathom.

Tied up in all of that is embarrassment. She'd handled the situation...poorly, to say the least. Sherry prides herself as someone who maintains a cool head under pressure. You _had_ to be that type of person to handle the kind of work she does. But today she'd reverted all the way past rookie and straight into amateur— _civilian,_ even. She'd broken nearly every rule. 

She'd been injured and didn't stay for treatment. She didn't report the incident to HQ immediately after neutralizing the threat. She'd abandoned her partner in a foreign, possibly hostile environment. She'd abandoned her post. She'd abandoned the _mission._

All for what? Because she got _scared?_ That isn't going to cut it, not with HQ.

And that's fine, really. Sherry doesn't _want_ that to cut it, doesn't want to give excuses just as much as they don't want to hear them. Whatever punishment they give her, she'll accept it gladly. And if she gets benched from missions? If Jake's assigned a new partner? Well...it would serve her right.

Sherry sets her cup down. Suddenly, even coffee is too much for her to stomach. 

Sherry rubs her face with one hand, tries to find a shred of sanity in the darkness behind her closed lids.

_I'm such a mess._

The bathroom door opens, flooding the hallway with light, and Sherry quickly straightens, composing herself. Jake's dealt with her emotions for long enough.

Jake comes out of the bathroom in his t-shirt and jeans, skin still flushed as he rubs a towel over his head. He tosses his gloves and jacket on the back of a chair, takes one look at Sherry—shoulders bowed, expression placid, eyes downcast—and scoffs.

"Quit looking at me like that."

"...Like what?"

"Like I'm your principal," Jake rolls his eyes. "You're not in _trouble,_ Sherry."

Sherry stares.

"But...I am? I jeopardized the mission. I didn't follow protocol at all and you had to bring me back." Sherry frowns, looking askance. "When HQ finds out—"

"They're not _gonna_ find out."

"They...will, though?" Sherry frowns harder at Jake. This should be obvious. "It'll be in the report..." How is Jake not getting this?

Jake sticks his chin out, staring at Sherry with mounting frustration. "...Why would it be in the report, Sherry?" he asks slowly, like _she's_ the one who doesn't understand.

Sherry squints at him, speaking just as cautiously. "Because...that's what happened?"

Jake squints back _harder._ "...Sherry. I wasn't _planning_ on putting this in the report."

Sherry jolts. "What?!" 

Jake throws his hands up. "Why the hell would I?!"

"Because it's the truth! I compromised the mission! They need to know!"

"No, they don't!"

"Jake," she tries to appeal to reason. "At the very least, I need to be re-evaluated. I thought—I didn't think this," her arm crosses over her chest, lightly touching her shoulder; one of her wings stir, "Would affect me so badly. I'm not fit for duty."

"Oh, fuck that." Jake marches over to the table and plants a heavy hand on it, leaning into Sherry's space. "You had a panic attack, Sherry, that's all. And, given the circumstances, I think it was pretty fucking reasonable."

Sherry feels even more lost than she did during the whole bathroom incident. How is _any_ of this reasonable?

"The _why_ doesn't matter! And even if it did, it wouldn't be fair to you to lie about it. I...let you down today." Sherry goes back to staring into her coffee, unable to meet the force of Jake's anger anymore. _"I'm_ reporting it even if you don't. It's the right thing to do."

Jake straightens. Under Sherry's wary gaze, he closes his eyes, brings his hands together as if in prayer, and presses them to his lips. He heaves a deep, deep breath through his nose and exhales for a few long, drawn-out seconds.

"Okay," he says in a perfectly reasonable tone. "Okay. I need to set some things straight. I see that now." He gestures to Sherry, beckoning her with a quick flick of his first two fingers. "Come on."

Still confused, Sherry nonetheless abandons her mug and follows Jake to the modest living room area. He flops onto the loveseat, arms and legs akimbo, and pats the spot next to him. 

Gingerly, Sherry sits. The moment she's settled, Jake hooks his foot underneath both her ankles and tosses her feet onto the couch and onto his lap. Sherry makes a noise of startlement, twisting with the motion, but Jake's already got her in a vice grip, careful of her wings, fingertips pressed to the backs of her ankles.

"What—?"

"Insurance," Jake says. "I've got a feeling I'll need it. Now—" He looks her straight in the eyes, all lightness gone from his face. "Are you okay? Really?"

Sherry rears back slightly, taken aback. Her first instinct is to distance herself and she tries to pull away without any conscious decision from her brain. But Jake holds her fast, fingers warm and unmoving when she tries to twitch away. 

_Insurance._ Sherry licks suddenly dry lips, running a hand through her mostly-dried hair. "...Yes. I'm fine."

Jake's skepticism is a near-physical thing. "Riiiight," he agrees, voice dryer than a desert. Something hard slips into his tone. "It's not like I walked in on you plucking yourself or anything."

Sherry snaps her mouth shut, glaring at the floor. She decides it's wiser not to speak. 

One of Jake's hands moves to the top of her leg and he rubs from ankle to about halfway up, well below her knee and the end of her robe. He keeps it up, a gentle caress—maybe a reminder that he's not angry with her.

"I didn't think I needed to say anything because I thought it was obvious, but I guess I need to make myself clear. Sherry." His voice doesn't waver and he doesn't look away. "I don't care about your wings."

The words fall into a deafening silence. Sherry stares at Jake and he watches her back calmly, patiently, completely indifferent to how earth-shattering his words are. She searches his eyes but she doesn't find what she's looking for.

"...You...really mean that, don't you?" she asks, half-awed, half-incredulous. 

Jake doesn't blink. "I do."

Sherry falls back against the arm of the couch, gaze skittering away from him as she absorbs this simple, impossible fact. She can't wrap her head around it, even slightly. She musters a limp, slight smile.

"I guess you see freaks all the time," she muses. "You're probably desensitized." It even makes sense. It's the _only_ thing that makes sense. Compared to the B.O.W.s they've taken down, her wings were just business as usual. She should be even more grateful he hadn't shot first and asked questions later.

Instead of magnanimous, Jake looks _pissed._

 _"Sherry._ You're not a _freak._ And you're not gonna like this, but your wings aren't even ugly, let alone _monstrous."_ When Sherry snaps her head at him, aghast, his eyes are blazing. _Daring_ her to argue. 

"Jake—"

"Yeah, I said it! And you're just gonna have to suck it up, 'cause it's the fucking truth."

Real anger sweeps over Sherry then. She tries to take her legs back but Jake's not having it.

"Jake—it's the furthest thing _from_ the truth.," she gestures cuttingly, trying to _make_ him understand. "Even if I didn't have so many, _no one_ has wings this white, _no one,_ and you know it. I've only ever seen wings like mine once," she tells him, eyes falling to her wrists, where these— _parasites_ —sprout from her skin. "When my father mutated, he was covered in them. He'd molt, and ten more would grow in their place. It was horrifying," she whispers.

"I thought we weren't our fathers," Jake says soberly.

Sherry's breath hitches and her head snaps up. 

Using her own words against her like that...It's the meanest thing he's ever done to her. 

She opens her mouth, closes it, but words are—they crowd her mouth, but they seem trite, pointless. She wants to argue, but she knows Jake will turn it around on himself, will point out that if Sherry thinks she's just her own father waiting to happen, why would he be any different? Jake _is_ different, so different it's almost laughable, but he won't accept that he's the exception—and Sherry _doesn't know what she's supposed to say to that._

Jake watches her struggle for a moment. She takes notice when he moves, turning so he's facing her head-on, back to the arm of the couch in a perfect mirror of her position, although he doesn't release her ankles.

Without so much as a warning, Jake's wings, before tucked against his spine, flare out like a thundercrack, huge and black and breath-taking.

Sherry freezes, afraid to _blink._ After all of this, he _still..._

"Jake..." There's a thread of warning in her voice, a last plea. She's never been so torn in her _life. _She wants to answer him, _desperately,_ but even with the evidence right in front of her face, it seems unthinkable that he sees her as someone worth presenting _to.___

He doesn't budge. Just watches her. Waits.

If she could, in this moment, she would run. But Jake's taken care of that problem, grip like iron around her ankles. So, she doesn't have a choice. She has to answer, and after everything she's put him through, she owes him her honesty.

Heart beating painfully fast in her chest, Sherry raises slightly, just enough to give herself space. She looks down over her shoulder, rolling first one, then the other forward. Her three sets of wings stretch out and then arch forward. She shoots a quick glance at Jake, but his expression isn't one of regret. There's a slight smile on his lips, so Sherry keeps pushing forward, heart threatening to stop completely.

Jake starts slightly when he feels movement and he finally releases Sherry's ankles as her wings flutter and stretch out there as well. She pushes the thick sleeves of her robes up with trembling hands, just high enough to free her last pair and cups her knees as they, too, unfurl and arch towards Jake.

For the longest moment, Sherry doesn't dare look up. She can feel herself shaking, half of it nervous tension, the other half the effort of holding herself back and not flying right off this couch and back into the night. 

Jake's touch comes back, sliding from her ankles up the back of her legs, grounding, careful. It makes Sherry brave enough to look up from her knees.

Jake's smiling. Honest-to-God, happy, _smiling._ Sherry drinks it in at first, shocked that it's... _her_ that put that expression on his face. It...he looks so incredibly handsome and despite herself, she finds herself mirroring it, her own smile slowly growing on her lips.

He reaches out and Sherry doesn't flinch away this time, doesn't even think about running away. Jake gathers her close and pulls her onto his lap. She catches herself on his shoulders, blushing and smiling, and Jake grins up at her, excitement and something suspiciously like wonder in his eyes. 

"Sherry," he breathes, and their faces are so close she can feel his coffee-tinged breath on her skin.

"Yes?" She does an admirable job of not sounding completely gone.

"If you don't stop me," he warns, big hands tightening around her waist, "I'm going to kiss you now."

Sherry's face goes hot. She can't look away. "Okay."

Jake shoots her one last grin before he pushes up and kisses her.

Kissing Jake doesn't feel like fireworks or electricity or anything like that. The words are good, but they're too dull. They don't cover how right it feels to be in his arms, to be sharing his breath, to tip-toe around each other for so long and to finally, achingly come together. Kissing Jake is like—shelter in a storm. It's safety and happiness and strength and trust and acceptance and understanding and relief, all at once. It's coming home.

Something painful blooms in Sherry's chest. It's bruised and aching, but cathartic at the same time, to know that Jake knows all of her and still wants her, wants _this._ She'd never dared believe—never even _thought_ she'd get a chance at this, ever.

Sherry cups Jake's face, pressing forward as her eyes squeeze shut tightly. The relief is so huge it hurts and she can't help the way she trembles then, overcome that she can be this close to someone and they aren't going to hurt her. She's spent so long convinced that the way she was invited punishment, maybe even _deserved_ punishment. But now...

Jake meets her passion, a hand cradling the back of her head and the grip on her waist sliding to her hip in a bruising, possessive hold. He breaks their kiss for just an instant.

"Tuck 'em in," he orders, voice low and rough. Sherry barely has half a mind to do as he asks, too consumed in him to ask questions. 

She tucks her wings back, all of them, and Jake immediately pushes her lengthwise into the couch, covering her body with his so that she sinks into the cushions. His next kiss is searing, full of want and desperation, and his tongue slides into her mouth, tasting hers with a long, savoring lick.

Sherry moans, hands gripping Jake's shoulders tightly. Jake _growls_ and Sherry feels her heart jump at the sound. His forearms form a cage on either side of her head and he barely lets her breathe, only parting their lips for split-seconds before pressing them close again. 

Intoxicating is the word that comes to mind. She's drowning in pleasure, drowning in the sudden and intense passion and want Jake's pouring out in droves, like he's pent-up and Sherry's the first bit of relief he's seen in years. He shifts and his knee presses between Sherry's legs, shifting forward with a pressure that makes Sherry break their kiss with a sharp twist of her head.

_"Ah—!"_

Jake's lips find her neck. He doesn't let up with his leg, rocking it into her, and he places, one, two, three frantic kisses on her flushed skin before he bites.

"Oh, god— _Jake_ —ah!" 

Sherry's hand slides to Jake's neck, holding on for dear _life_ it feels like, when she notices something that cuts through the haze of pleasure—

Jake's shaking, too.

Sherry sucks in a breath, shudders the next instant when Jake pushes his knee up again, starts sucking on the bite that's no doubt already healing. 

She'd thought his desperation was eagerness, but in this moment it finally hits her that Jake might have wanted this just as much as her. Might have been waiting just as long.

"Jake," Sherry gasps. She runs her hand over the back of his head over and over, feeling the short, soft strands slide against her palm. "Jake," she whispers, patient, coaxing, "Jake."

He finally pulls his head from her neck after one last nip, staring down at her with pupils blown. His expression is so unguarded in that moment, turned on and desperate and so scared this is going to be ripped away from him. Just like her.

Heart fit to burst, Sherry's hands delicately come up to cradle Jake's face. She slowly traces over every inch of his face with her eyes, caresses his cheeks with her thumbs as she re-memorizes features that are so familiar and comforting to her, both changed in desire and exactly the same. 

She loves him. She's known that for a long time, but getting to act on it feels like a miracle. 

Sherry doesn't _say_ that, of course. Jake's tolerating a lot from her right now and the last thing she wants is to send him over the deep end. She settles for smiling brightly, running a thumb over his lips.

"It's okay," she says quietly. "I'm not going anywhere." She cups his cheek. Swipes across the skin there, right over his scar. He's so handsome it _hurts_ to look at him. Her smile grows.

"You make me so happy," she tells him simply.

She almost feels bad for how he stiffens, to see the stricken expression that crosses Jake's face then. A sharp empathy goes through her, because it's exactly how she's felt these last few hours, being caught by Jake over and over again when she was certain she would fall. 

_Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it?_

Jake's eyes rove over her, searching, and then he shakes his head, something wry to his features. He presses another kiss to her lips, overwhelming in a completely different way, tender and deep and easily obliterating the small measure of composure Sherry had reclaimed.  
  
They separate after another countless eternity of kisses and soft touches. Jake finds her hand and threads their fingers together. He raises their joined hands and places a few kisses on the back of hers, over her knuckles, her wrist where her wing joins her skin. He'd done this in the bathroom, but it had been an act of assurance, for himself as much as her. This time, there's something undeniably reverent about it. Like _he's_ the one who can't believe this is happening.

"Just so you know?" Sherry looks up into Jake's piercing, pale blue eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, either," he promises.

Sherry's going to die of heart failure, it's inevitable. Her smile is wide enough to hurt but Jake isn't giving her any reason to stop.

She believes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally here, at the end! And it's the longest chapter! ＼（Ｔ∇Ｔ）／

Sherry wakes with a jolt, heart racing, a gasp caught in her throat. She tries to rise, driven by a desperate urgency, but a firm weight around her waist prevents her from lifting more than a few inches.

_What?_

Sherry looks around, panic building. She's looking for restraints, the light, the table—

But none of that's here. The room is dark, despite the faintest light coming through the curtains in a prelude to dawn. Beneath her is a warm bed, sheets whispering against her legs as she shifts. It's Jake wrapped around her, smothering a yawn, blinking up at her.

"Sher?" he asks, confusion mixing with sleepiness in his voice. He starts to sit up. "You'kay?"

"I'm fine, sorry," she quickly. Her hands go to his shoulders, trying to encourage him to lay back down. Between coming back from the mountain, the bathroom debacle, and their late-night talk, they'd only managed to get a few hours of sleep, and _she_ didn't have to carry someone down a mountain and manage their panic attacks. Jake needs the rest. "Just a dumb nightmare, that's all. Go back to sleep."

Jake ignores her. He leans against the headboard and tugs at her, cradling her close to his chest. Sherry stiffens at first but quickly relaxes into his hold. He rests his chin on her head and hums.

"Nightmares, huh?" He smothers another yawn. "'Cause of yesterday?"

He knows her so well. "Yeah. Just—everything. Brought back some memories."

Jake presses a kiss to her temple. It's amazing to her that he can already do that without hesitating. Like it's natural. "Wanna talk about it?"

And ruin this? No way. Even if Sherry kept it bare-bones, Jake would press her for more information. He'd want to _understand_ and getting into the experimentation, her childhood—

Sherry knows she can't avoid this conversation forever, but there's no reason to get into it right now. They've gone through enough emotional turmoil these past two days.

Sherry shakes her head, pressing her forehead into the warmth of Jake's bare chest. He'd lent her his t-shirt last night. She'd tried to refuse, knowing she was going to stretch out the wing-slits horribly, but he'd insisted. 

"It's nothing." She bites back the words 'I'm fine'. "I feel better already," she says instead, and it's even true. How could it not be with Jake here?

"Mm." Jake doesn't sound satisfied with her answer, but he doesn't push. Thank god. "Alright. Hey, do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't bind today."

Sherry freezes. "...What...Why..."

Jake runs a hand up and down her arm. "We don't have anywhere to be until tomorrow. You know I don't care, and I want you to get used to having them out around me." Jake smothers another yawn, tone conversational. "'Sides, must suck keeping them hidden all the time."

He's not wrong. She's grown used to the discomfort, but she's always aware of it, the strain and weight of it, the urge to stretch like an itch she can't scratch until it's dark and she's alone. It another thing that makes them feel shameful.

She understands that this is a small step, one Jake's trying to make easy for her. If they're...going to do this, she has to get used to him seeing them. Of her not hiding. Sherry runs a few fingers across her wrist wing, smoothing the down where it's tucked against her arm.

"You're really okay with it?" she asks. There's nothing wrong with her memory, but she wants to give Jake another chance, just in case. If he really is putting on a brave face, he shouldn't feel pressured to say these things for her sake. It'll just hurt them both in the long run. 

"Positive," he says, not a trace of doubt in his voice. 

A giddy, helpless feeling rises up in her and she bites her lips against it. For all their talk the night before, each affirmation feels new. It's easy to believe him in the heat of the moment, another to accept it as a constant. His assurances are almost more stressful than the vitriol she'd imagined. It's no contest which outcome is better, but a guilty part of her can't help but think that Jake's anger and the possibility of abandonment would be...easier. She'd at least know what to expect, then.

Sherry lets Jake take the bathroom first. In the dark, she curls back up in the warmth he left behind. She takes a slow, steady breath, wrapping her mind around the past two days in the sober light of morning. The facts are stark, Jake's acceptance even more so, and she closes her eyes, presses her palms together beneath the blankets.

_Please. Please let this last. Please._

Jake calls for her soon enough, letting her know the bathroom's free, and she slips out of bed, forcing herself not to look like someone who was just praying to a God they're not even sure they believe in to let them keep the best thing in their life. By the time she leaves, face washed and teeth brushed, she feels pretty successful.

She has to steel herself before she steps into the little kitchen area, hyper-aware of both her exposed wings and her legs. The t-shirt only reaches halfway down her thighs and her ankle wings flutter, betraying her agitation. The fact that she's not wearing a bra doesn't help.

Sherry runs a hand through her hair, sweeping some of her bangs off her forehead, and steps out, gripping her elbow behind her back. She steps out of the hallway and peers tentatively around the corner.

Jake notices her immediately, glancing up at her from over his coffee mug. When he lowers it, his smile is this awful, satisfied thing that makes Sherry torn between staying right where she is and running away in embarrassment. He leans back in his chair, pats his lap.

"C'mere," he says, voice still rough with sleep. Sherry absolutely isn't affected by it at all. "Lemme look at you."

Okay, Sherry is affected by it. A _lot;_ embarrassed doesn't even _begin_ to cover it. She presses a palm to her flushed cheek, looking down, and murmurs, "Please, stop..."

She comes, though, half-because she wants to, mostly because she hopes it'll shut him up. Her wings are scrunched in, reflexively hiding as much as possible. When she gets close enough, facing him, Jake raises a finger, twirls it. 

Sherry gapes at him. Surely, he doesn't mean...

Jake grins and Sherry asks herself why she even _likes_ him. But she knows Jake isn't going to drop it. Clasping her hands together, she nonetheless takes a small side-step, pivoting in place so he can see her wings. They stretch out, across her back and ankles. She can't look up from the floor when she faces forward again, mortified. 

"Please don't make me do that again," she pleads, her voice a strained thread of sound. She gets that he's trying to make her see that it's not a big deal, but—she needs more time. This is a lot for her.

Jake chuckles and reaches out, pulling her into his lap. She ends up sitting sideways across his legs, carefully pulling her wings back in so they don't bump into his or the table. Jake's lips press against her cheek.

"Sorry," he murmurs. He doesn't make any promises, Sherry can't help but notice. 

Annoyed, she huffs, reaches out and takes Jake's coffee. If he's going to torture her so early in the morning, she deserves to at least be caffeinated for it. She lays her head on Jake's chest and cradles the mug close, relaxing as the heat seeps into her hands, into her side from Jake's body heat. She takes a sip, eyes sliding half-closed. It's so quiet, nothing but their breaths, Jake's heartbeat in her ear.

Jake doesn't say anything about the theft of his coffee, although he does make an amused noise that rumbles in his chest. When Sherry lowers the mug from her lips his hand comes down, cups the bottom and lifts so he can take a sip, too. Sherry watches him drink, a small smile tugging on her lips.

"It's awfully tempting to spill this right now," she warns. It would be so easy, too, she'd only have to tilt it a _little_ further, and she deserves some payback for the teasing... 

Jake's lips twitch into a smile but he doesn't otherwise react. He lowers the cup a moment later, clear eyes flashing down to hers. This close, she can make out the hints of blue around his pupils.

"I'm not worried," he says. 

"Pretty cocky," Sherry observes, eyebrow rising. Jake smirks outright at that.

"It's why you love me."

Sherry looks away, berating herself for smiling and giving herself away. As if Jake needs a bigger ego. "Mm. I wonder..."

Jake chuckles again. It's clear he's not buying her pitiful act for a second. 

She doesn't realize how relaxed she'd grown until Jake sets the mug aside and strokes along one of her wings, gently coaxing it closer so that he can run his finger through the feathers.

Body stiff, Sherry's bombarded by several instinctive reactions at once, most of them demanding she does whatever it takes to get space—fast. But then Jake's hand, resting on her hip, squeezes—a reminder that pulls her from cold tables and harsh lights to ground her in the present. Sherry forces herself to unclench—everything. She sinks back into Jake, a slow, silent sigh whispering past her lips as she carefully watches Jake's fingers sliding over her wing, the length of it pulled close to her lap so he can reach.

Perhaps subconsciously, his own come up and around them, creating a shadowed bubble of space that makes her wing look a little less stark-white, the steady rise and fall of Jake's chest easier to focus on. It soothes that ragged thing in Sherry's chest that wants to hide away.

This close, it's impossible not to notice how beautiful Jake's wings are. Even near the top, his shortest feathers are longer than hers, sleek and shiny and pitch black. The kitchen light dances over the tops of them and makes them shine with an iridescence of purple-blue-green.

It takes her a moment to muster the courage. Her hand reaches out, arm brushing across his chest, but after he moves to her middle wing, carefully combing through messy, neglected down, she finally lets her fingertips sink into the black plumage.

They're warm; it's surprising, although she's not sure why it is. After all, Jake always feels like a furnace, why wouldn't his wings be the same? He doesn't protest so she continues, a small, happy smile on her lips as she runs her fingers through the dark feathers, reveling in their silken touch. They're yielding but firmer the lower she goes, no doubt rigid to aid his flight. She's wanted to touch them for so long, it's like a dream come true to be allowed now.

They don't speak for the longest time, hands reaching and learning, exploring this new facet of their relationship with quiet contentment. By the time Jake finishes with her lowest wing, she's reaching the end of his own. Sherry doesn't want to move, but she wants to preen Jake's other wing and if she has that to focus on the urge to run won't be so overwhelming.

She straightens, leaving the warmth of Jake's chest, and carefully moves one of her legs to straddle him, all while his hands hold onto her waist to keep her steady. She can't control the flush to her cheeks because they're... _close,_ Jake's face is _right there,_ and that look on his face, happy and obnoxiously handsome, isn't doing her any favors. Straddling him like this, that little moment on the couch demands to be remembered, over almost before it began, mood not _ruined_ exactly by their quiet confessions, but certainly made less urgent. By the time Jake had offered his shirt and they'd curled up on the bed, sleep was the only option.

Smiling ruefully, Sherry decides not to look at Jake's face. She instead focuses her attention on his other wing, now very much in reach. Running her fingers through those feathers is quickly growing addicting and her smile becomes softer at the thought that she can do this whenever she wants now. 

Jake's touch resumes on her other side, making her smile fall slightly. She can't deny it feels good, but still. It's hard to come to terms with the fact that Jake wants to touch her like this. He clearly doesn't see her as a monster but even now, she can't agree. Not when there's so much evidence stacked against her.

Her thoughts are interrupted in a way she least expects.

"God," Jake murmurs, and something in his tone makes her stop and take notice, expression curious. Jake meets her gaze. "You're just...so fucking beautiful."

Sherry sucks in a sharp breath, speechless. His hand, big and warm, runs up the length of her back as he leans away slightly, eyes trailing up her body.

"How did an asshole like me even get you?" he asks, but he doesn't seem to be asking her, really. His voice is low, wondering, like he's talking to himself.

"...Don't call yourself that," Sherry eventually manages. Deflection's her only defense. Her hand comes up to rest on Jake's shoulder, tracing over the curve of his neck. "You're a good man, Jake."

"You keep saying that," he mutters, a smirk tugging back onto his lips. 

"It's true," she insists.

"But you being beautiful isn't?" 

Sherry's mouth snaps shut, taken aback. The obvious answer is _it's not,_ but Jake will argue with her. She doesn't say anything, flushed, frowning. It just...feels like she's _tricked_ him, somehow.

Jake presses her impossibly closer with a firm hand at the dip of her waist. He noses at her neck, presses the words into her skin with his lips. 

"It _is_ true, Sherry." He presses a gentle kiss to her neck, one that makes her shiver. "You're—god—you're fucking perfect."

"J-Jake," she protests, but he shushes her, kisses growing firmer, turning to little nips and bites before he sucks, _hard._ Sherry gasps, jerks, eyes squeezing shut. Her hands loop over his shoulders, can only cling to him as he resolves to make her fall apart in his grasp.

"I know you hate them," Jake says, licking over the bruise already growing smaller on her skin, "But when I first saw your wings—Christ, I thought you were a goddamn angel."

Sherry gasps, this one loud, shocked. She tries to pull away, _needing_ to run, pleading, "J-Jake, no, n—stop, you have to stop," but he's _unmoveable_ suddenly.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, lifting his head. He noses against her, his palm trying to caress her into a calm state that seems _lightyears_ from happening. She's shaking but can't resist Jake when he presses a kiss to her lips. It's the only thing she can cling to right now and she lets her eyes fall shut, Jake's words rattling in her head, her chest, _painful._

She tries to push them away, but Jake doesn't stop. He kisses her one second, then he's speaking the next, words of underserved praise falling like rain around her.

"You're so incredible," and he kisses her before she can argue.

"You have no idea what you do to me," and his palm comes up, cups her breast through the thin t-shirt, rubs his thumb over a rapidly hardening nipple.

"You drive me fucking _crazy,"_ and hands clamp down, force her down onto him where he's hard and waiting for her.

Sherry ducks her head, presses the back of her fingers against her mouth. Jake's _wrong,_ he's so wrong, but she can't _think,_ can barely _breathe_ beneath Jake's sudden onslaught. He grinds into her and Sherry can't stifle herself in time, a high, keening sound leaving her and Jake shudders beneath her.

"God, _listen_ to you." He grinds her down into him again and they both groan. _"Fuck."_

Their lips meet and Sherry's fingernails sink into Jake's shoulders, the pleasure making her head spin. She can feel herself growing wetter and, wearing only Jake's shirt, there's so little separating them. The rough press of his dick through the denim is rough and firm and so good she feels like she might die and they _have to stop—_

"Jake— _ah_ —wai—wait," she slides her hand against his neck, tries to guide his face up from hers. Jake's eyes are dark, the hunger stark on his face enough to make her throat dry, to shoot another bolt of pleasure straight between her legs.

"I—I'm not wearing underwear," she says quietly, unable to blush any harder. She bites her lip, looks askance in shy embarrassment. "...I'm going to get your pants dirty."

Jake goes rigid as a statue around her. Then there's a flurry of feathers, the clatter of the chair falling over, and then Sherry's pressed to the floor, Jake's hard body pinning her down, his hands gripping her wrists, keeping them up above her head.

It takes him barely a blink to get her where he wants her and then his hips are digging into hers, hard enough that the sudden shock of pleasure to her clit makes her moan without restraint, loud and trembling and so, _so embarrassing._

Jake seems to want to be everywhere at once, kissing her breathless before ducking down to bite her neck, licking and sucking in turn, and all the while he thrusts against her, keeping her wrists chained with one firm fist while the other lifts her hip easily, angling her so that he hits her at just the right spot each time.

 _"Nn!"_ On reflex, she wants to cover her mouth, but Jake's hold is unshakeable. Her head tosses, she tries to keep quiet, but she _can't. "Mm—ah,_ J-Jake, _ah—"_

"The things I'm gonna do to you," he says hotly, lips skimming her ear. She tries to curl in on herself, to hide, but Jake has her laid out completely, on display for him with nowhere to go, only allowed to take it and she can _feel_ herself dripping, hot and wet and embarrassed and so, _so_ turned on. "Fuck, why didn't I bring condoms? I bet you're tighter than a fucking dream."

Just the _thought_ of Jake inside her makes her hips twitch off the ground, meeting Jake in a clumsy grind that makes her see stars. She buries her face as much as she can in her arm, mortified, unbelievably hot. 

"Like that, huh?" _Oh, god._ Jake noticed. _Of course,_ he noticed. Why is she only realizing now that he's always watching her? That he never misses _anything?_

"Just wait," he says, voice low and nearly growling. She can feel his smirk against the skin of her neck. "I'll— _ah_ —fuck you so good you won't be able to walk for _days,"_ he promises. His hips grow frantic in pace. He raises his head and Sherry can't resist looking back, hardly able to believe the words that are coming out of his mouth, face burning, lips parted in mute, flustered shock. "I'd make it so good," he grunts, eyes roving over her face, taking in every hitched breath, every gasp and moan and the desperate, self-conscious flush of her skin. "I'll worship you, Sherry. I'm gonna _wreck_ you for anybody else."

Sherry's orgasm comes over her like a freight train, sudden and vicious and merciless. She sucks in a sharp breath, rigid, and then she's moaning uncontrollably, twitching and writhing as her eyes slip closed and she dissolves into waves of pleasure, dragged out by each roll of Jake's hips until he goes still above her, squeezes out a few more thrusts before he collapses on top of her.

They lay there on the floor, panting, for a long time. Sherry...she can't believe that just happened, can't believe Jake _said_ all those things, can't believe how much she _liked_ it. Jake's obviously a pervert, but what does it say about her that she'd felt nothing but turned on the longer he'd spoken?

"Jesus Christ," Jake murmurs finally. "You're gonna fucking kill me."

"Oh my God," Sherry covers her face with her hands. She's never looking at Jake _ever_ again.

Jake laughs, the sound rumbling through her body, deep and satisfied. A faint twinge of desire sweeps over her but she crushes it. Just—no.

The floor is hard and her wings are starting to protest the position, but she can't muster an ounce of regret. Still, almost like he can sense it, Jake shifts enough to slide an arm beneath her waist. He rolls onto his back and drags her over.

He's grinning when she settles on top of him, palms flat on his naked chest.

"Hey," he says. 

Despite herself, Sherry smiles back at him. "Shut up." She looks away, shaking her head. "I can't believe you...the stuff you said..."

"Hm. Don't remember you complaining..."

Sherry blushes bright, unable to deny it. She buries her head against his chest and lets out a wounded, keening noise of embarrassment.

"Now, now, there's nothing to be ashamed of, Super Girl." His hand slides down, cupping her butt to give a playful squeeze. "I like 'em kinky."

"JAKE!" Sherry slaps her palms to his cheeks, presses them so his face scrunches up hilariously. "STOP. I mean it!"

Jake laughs and surges out of her hold to plant a firm, happy kiss to her lips. Sherry can't resist kissing back, although it's more like they're pressing their smiles together, with a hint of a kiss on the horizon.

"I meant what I said, though," Jake murmurs.

Sherry hums. "What? All that perverted stuff?"

 _"All_ of it, Sherry." They part enough for their eyes to meet and his hand runs over her back, brushes over the length of a wing. "There's nothing wrong with the way you look."

Sherry's breath hitches. She drops her gaze.

"...Jake, I...I want to believe you, I just—"

"You can't," Jake confirms. Sherry shakes her head. There's just too much wrapped in her appearance, her wings, to dismiss it after a few compliments. Maybe she'll never be able to.

"That's fine," Jake soothes, caressing her back. His free hand cups her cheek. "But I'm not gonna stop saying it, either," he warns. At Sherry's stricken look, he presses, "You'll believe it someday. Until then, it'll just have to be my job to remind you." His smirk returns, but it's warmer than usual. "Good thing it's easy."

Hearing Jake talk about their future together, even in the vaguest terms, makes her heart squeeze. 

Sherry kisses him again, hugging him close. "You're impossible," she whispers against his lips.

His holds tightens. "That's what they call me."

They finally get off the floor soon after that. They both definitely have to shower again, but when Jake offers to help her wash her back with the most lecherous expression Sherry's ever seen, her laughter is bright and happy and Jake peppers her face with kisses, clearly proud to have made her crack up.

Jake makes a call to the inn's owner and, through bribery or threats, Sherry's not sure, but nonetheless there's a change of clothes waiting for her by the time she steps out, wearing the same robe from last night. Jake passes the clothes to her with a quick press of his lips to her forehead before he takes the bathroom. Sherry stands in the middle of the hallway for a few seconds, fingertips light over the spot, trying and failing to smother a grin.

She gets dressed in the bedroom and sits on the well-worn mattress, lingering over the plain button-up. There are six slits cut into this, too, and she doubts it was delivered that way. 

Jake's thoughtfulness and patience, his attentive care—she doesn't think she'll ever get used to it, ever _deserve_ it. But she's going to try to earn it, at least. He deserves nothing less. 

And part of that is telling him the truth. The whole truth. The true extent of the experiments, the isolation, the cold censure of the scientist, of Simmons. But later. Right now, she's barely holding it together, wrestling with both having her wings out around another person and this sudden change in her relationship with Jake. Even now, it's nearly more than she can over-come, not grabbing the innocuous length of plain linen with it's sturdy, reliable buckles. But Jake asked her not to bind, at least around him. And she trusts him.

Sherry never even heard Jake coming, but she's only too aware of him now when he suddenly knocks her flat onto the bed, pulling her to his chest.

"Wha—Jake?! What are you—"

"You were thinking too much," Jake interrupts. He lays back and tugs Sherry against his side. "Just lay back and bask in the moment for once in your life."

"What moment?"

"This one, right here." Jake tugs her closer, tangling their legs together. "You've got a drop-dead gorgeous man in your bed, after all, why wouldn't you bask?"

Sherry tucks her smile into his chest. "So modest, too," she mumbles. 

"I'm a man of many virtues." Jake shuffles oddly beneath her, then, "Hey, Super Girl, look up."

"Hm?" Sherry peeks out, smile still on her lips, only to see Jake's phone held out. 

"Cheese!" The shutter clicks.

 _"Jake!"_ Sherry squawks. She tries to swipe at the phone ineffectually. Jake keeps it just out of reach. "Delete it! I wasn't ready!"

Jake cranes his head to look at the screen, grinning. "Nah, it looks good—Jesus, do I look like a set of monkey bars? Calm down!"

"Jake," she starts, warning.

"Here, look—but _don't touch."_ Sherry rolls her eyes when he looks at her expectantly, waiting for her agreement, but she nods. 

Jake finally presents the picture and it—Sherry stops short, surprised. 

Every single time Sherry's seen her own wings, in the mirror, in the odd reflection, in the even rarer pictures—all she's aware of is how out of place she looks. Odd. _Wrong._

But there, lying down next to Jake, their black and white feathers entangled, they look... _good._ Almost _normal._ Jake's wings compliment hers in a way she never could have expected.

Like they _belong_ together. 

The silence grows long enough to be worrying and she can feel Jake's eyes on her. 

She lays back against his side, not wanting him to see the silly, happy smile on her face. Her hand comes to rest on his chest.

"You'll have to send it to me when I get my phone back," she says. 

There's a pause. Jake sets his phone aside and takes her hand in his. He presses a kiss to her head.

"You got it, super girl."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, I want to say a special thanks to Beastie, who's lovely art for this fic I absolutely adore and will treasure till the end of my days. 
> 
> You guys made it! This is the end, can you believe it? Who wants to cry with me? ╥﹏╥
> 
> What did you think? I definitely want to hear your comments, even if its a smiley face lol.
> 
> Writing this was so much fun! When I posted this fic, it was mostly an exercise for myself, to write something purely for my own enjoyment without valuing it by how much attention it received. While this fic isn't popular by any means, I had a great time writing it! It's literally so self-indulgent but writing something without worrying about making it more appealing to a large range of people was SO freeing! 10/10, would definitely recommend. 
> 
> A big, effusive, endlessly grateful thanks to everyone who's read/commented (especially this!!!!)/kudo'd this work! RE is a favorite fandom of mine and hearing your kind thoughts on this fic was SO amazing, seriously, thank you x90000000
> 
> I have SO MANY more RE WIPs, a lot of them Sherry/Jake, but I have several focused around my other faves, like Jill and Rebecca and Chris and Claire and Carlos—basically everyone lol. I hope to make some progress and post them, too! If you have any suggestions for fic ideas, or even something similar to this, I'm all ears! 
> 
> Will I write a sequel to this fic, delving into Sherry's trauma and Jake's POV? I'm definitely thinking about it! I love writing wingfics and diving into Sherry's trauma even more, but I don't want to make any promises, just in case. But it's definitely on the table.
> 
> One last time, thank you so much for reading! You guys are the best! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ♡＾▽＾♡ (≧ω≦)ゞ
> 
> If you want to see more ornaments fanart, check out my [tumblr!](https://seventhstrife.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ((The title of this fic was inspired from a quote from Aristotle: _"Shame is an ornament to the young; a disgrace to the old."_ ))


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